The First Noel
by Phx
Summary: A couple of days after Christmas, a stranger shows up at the door to see Fenton. When he makes a startling claim, it just might cost the young family both their sons. WeeHardys. Christmas Story.
1. Chapter 1

A/N - This is the first story in a AU Hardy Boys universe I write called _"The Sweet William AU";_ in this series of stories the Hardys adopted Joe when Joe was five years old. There is also mention of a twin brother, however William is not actually introduced until a later story called _"Sweet William."_

Anyways, I hope you enjoy my little romp in a non-canon Hardy world. The rest of the details are the same, ie, Fenton is still a detective, etc.

The boys are young in this story – Joe has just been adopted, Frank is six.

Let me know what you think. If you enjoy this story, I will post "Sweet William" afterwards.

I don't own them and make no money from them and this series of stories are unbeta'd and apologize if this story is not as polished as some of my more recent ones.

**The First Noel**

Francis Hardy frowned as he looked up at the darkening grey Christmas sky.

"There's going to be snow," he commented to his wife when Agnes Hardy came out of the old house to stand on the porch next to him. They gazed out over the snow-laden front yard and winding driveway that led to the main road. A young golden retriever frolicked in the snow a couple of yards away as bright Christmas lights twinkled behind them, casting the early evening in a postcard-worthy view.

"Looks like it might already be snowing in the city," Agnes commented quietly as she stepped closer to her husband, her words hanging in the cold air as puffs of whisper-white. Her pale blue eyes gazed towards the south; towards Bayport.

The retired ex-cop put an arm around his wife and pulled her a bit closer. "I hope Fenton drives carefully!" Agnes added, shivering against her husband's larger frame and thinking of their son.

"He will," Francis assured her and then turned them both around to go back inside the warm house. He glanced over his shoulder once again at the forbidding sky. "Especially with Laura and the boys in the car." He gave a short whistle and the dog beat a path towards the porch, up the stairs and into the house before them, his snout still crusted in snow and his tail wagging happily in perpetual motion.

"_Boys_," Agnes said as they stepped into the living room and then continued on into the kitchen where a freshly brewed pot of coffee called out to them. "I can't get used to that. Boy_s_," she repeated, her eyes capturing the gaze of her husband's darker brown ones. "I really hope Fenton and Laura know what they've gotten themselves into. I mean it's one thing to have a child and raise it from infancy, but quite another to adopt—"

"I wasn't aware you had anything against adoption," Francis said mildly as he sat down at the table and took the cup of coffee his wife offered. His tone belied his surprise at hearing his wife make that comment. He reached down to scratch behind the large dog's ears when the animal laid his head on the man's knee and looked up at him.

"I don't," Agnes rushed to assure him, "I'm just cautious." She sat down across from her dark-haired husband and sighed, "I suppose I'll feel better about all this once I've had a chance to actually meet the child. Frankie is certainly excited enough over him…" Her six-year-old grandson had done nothing except rave about his new little brother each time the senior Hardys called Bayport.

"Well," Francis reminded her, "we could have gone to see him before now."

"No, no, I still think we did the right thing," the woman defended, tucking a strand of graying dark hair behind her ear, "giving the child a little while to settle in before overwhelming him with extended family." Although anxious to meet their new grandson, Francis and Agnes decided to wait until Fenton and his family made their annual Christmas trek to visit them, to meet the little boy.

Although originally Bayport residents, the older Hardys had moved two hours away and into an old farmhouse on a small parcel of farmland after Francis retired from the force. As his retirement project, the spry retiree devoted his time to renovating the old house, and keeping out of his wife's hair…well, mostly.

"I'm still a bit anxious though," she admitted, "and nervous." Her blue eyes fixed on her mug of coffee. She sighed. "Probably most for Frankie."

"I'm sure it will be just fine," Francis tried to assure her. "We just have to have a little faith in Fenton and Laura." He reached across and squeezed his wife's hand. She looked up. "You know they would not have opened their home to this boy if they thought there would be any problem for Frankie…or for the child." He released her hand and leaned back heavily in his chair. "I can't help but be proud of their choice actually – adopting instead of trying to have another child again—"

"Well, they did have Laura's health to think about," Agnes admitted, thinking of her daughter-in-law. Laura's pregnancy with Frank had not been an easy one and then, when she did get pregnant again two years later, the baby girl had been still-born. Her voice softened and she sighed, "Physical and mental."

A sad sense of helplessness crept into the kitchen, broken only when the dog started to bark and raced towards the front door.

Francis stood at the unmistakable sound of a car nearing the house. He leaned over the table and placed a soft kiss on his wife's forehead. "It'll be just fine," he promised and then hurried to meet his new grandson.

------

Five-year-old Joe Doe sat in the backseat of the car and tried not to throw up. Beside him, his new brother Frank was peering excitedly out the window at the passing scenery, but try as he might, Joe could not get excited about this at all.

His new family – the Hardy family – were taking him on their yearly Christmas Eve pilgrimage to Frank's grandparents' house, where they would spend a week visiting before returning back to their own house on the corner of Elm and High streets in Bayport…and Joe didn't really want to go.

In fact, it was more than not wanting to go…it was sheer terror. A fear so intense, he had not been able to eat much all day and what little he had forced down to placate an increasingly concerned Fenton and Laura – his new daddy and mommy – was bubbling around in his stomach with an uncertainty about staying there.

Joe had never met Fenton's parents or older sister, who was also supposed to be there, and he was afraid to. So far he counted himself lucky as his adopted family seemed to be everything the little boy had prayed for with desperate fervency; but he was terrified that his luck would run out when he met the extended family and he trembled lightly at the thought of possible hostility, regardless of subtlety.

Although only five, the child was hypersensitive to animosity – the lessons of subtle aggression having been branded into his soul in the form of a vicious twin brother. A brother that he was working hard to forget, upon the advice of the social worker who taken great care to place Joe with this family. The Hardys knew nothing of William Doe and it was better that way….

------

"Did I tell you that Poppy has a big dog named Sam?" dark-haired Frank Hardy asked out of the blue as he turned towards the pale-faced blond boy.

"_Sam?"_ Joe repeated, his young face crinkled in confusion, "isn't that the name of—" he paused, still uncomfortable with calling Fenton _'Dad'_. Although he had never known his real father, the younger boy just felt a bit awkward over it; as did he with Laura being 'Mom' – though that was more understandable as he _had_ known his real mother….To their credit, Fenton and Laura seemed to understand and didn't pressure him on either account.

"Yeah. Uncle Sam is Daddy's partner," the six-year-old proudly boasted. "So we have an uncle Sam and a dog Sam."

"That's confusing," Joe admitted with a frown, "How can they tell who anyone's talking about if they just say _'Sam'_?"

Frank shrugged and grinned, "I dunno but it ain't no problem since Uncle Sam never comes to Poppy's anyway."

------

"Isn't a problem," Laura corrected from the front passenger seat as she shook her head at her son's grammar.

"_Isn't a problem_" Frank enunciated loudly from the back seat.

Stifling a sigh, the pretty blond woman looked at her husband, who was trying to hide his grin, and asked, "Are we there yet?"

"As a matter of fact," the young detective chuckled, "we are." And on that note, he pulled the car into the opening of a long driveway and carefully drove over the snow-slick gravel road towards the two-story farmhouse.

Joe felt his stomach drop, as his heart pounded painfully in his chest. They were here. It was time to meet the rest of the family.

------

"He looks just like her," Agnes Hardy whispered as she watched the little blond boy slowly climb out of the back of Fenton's car and then stand rather uncertainly beside Laura as Frank threw himself at his grandfather, his excitement making him airborne. Blond hair, blue-eyed, the younger boy did bear a striking resemblance to his adopted mother.

Of course they had seen pictures already but the photos had not done the child justice, as the most vibrant blue eyes she had ever seen briefly flickered over her with vivid apprehension.

'_Poor thing is terrified,'_ Agnes realized in shock, as she stood on the porch and watched her husband put their grandson down and then tousle his silky dark hair, as the dog jumped around barking with excitement at the visitors. She knew without hearing what was being said, that Francis was tormenting the child, and smiled knowingly when she heard a loud indignant outcry of "_POPPY!_" come from the boy even as he laughed and shook his head over whatever claim his grandfather had just made. And then they all turned towards the new child pressed against Laura's side, and Agnes moved off the porch and across the few feet of snow to be there for the formal introduction.

------

Fenton smiled fondly at his older son as Frank 'dealt' with the family patriarch even as he glanced at his mother, pleased to see that she'd come outside to meet them. Although Fenton knew his mother loved him, Laura and little Frank deeply, Agnes was much more reserved in display than her husband and seldom showed open affection, preferring tender moments in private. It was not unusual for her to wait inside the house. But she hadn't this time….She had come outside, and then as things settled down and Francis's gaze moved beyond his grandson, Fenton felt a thrill when his mother moved off the porch towards them – obviously to meet his new son.

Frank moved to stand next to his new brother, his face beaming with excitement, as Laura stood quietly behind them…Fenton's angel since the day they had first met. They were the world to him, and now with what Joe brought to their family, the man's heart purred with contentment – there was nothing else he desired in the world….

Placing one hand lightly on the little boy's shoulder, the detective wasn't surprised to feel the body trembling beneath his touch. He knew the child was scared, even if Joe hadn't said a word.

Clearing his throat, and giving the shoulder a gentle squeeze, Fenton said, his voice inflicted with pride, "Mom. Dad. I want you to meet the newest member of our family—" He glanced down at the top of the golden blond head. "This is our Joey."

Slowly Joe forced himself to meet the elder Hardys' gazes as his heart pounded wildly in his chest, and he felt like he was going to pass out. Frank reached out to grasp his hand and he clung to it, his anxiety eased slightly by the unexpected protective gesture.

"Well, hello there," Frank's grandfather – Poppy – said as he crouched down eye level to Joe. He looked a lot like Fenton, only older, a bit broader and pudgier around the middle. But it gave the child a startling insight into what his adopted father was going to look like in the years to come. The silver in the man's dark hair gave him a distinguished air even as his dark brown eyes twinkled warmly with good humor. "I've been hearing so much about you from Frankie, I feel like I already know you."

Joe found himself smiling shyly at the man as Frank blushed and mumbled, "Awww Poppy…"

"Aw Poppy, nothing!" the older man snorted, the smile on his face belying any chastisement intended, "you've done nothing except brag to me, and your grandmother, about your new baby brother—" it was Joe's turn to blush, "and all I've got to say is that I expected him to be taller!"

Joe couldn't help but laugh, immediately warming to the man. He'd never had a grandfather before but if he had, he'd have wanted him to be just like this one.

Clearing his throat, Francis stuck out his hand and said very formally, "Young man, let me introduce myself—" His gaze softened, as did his voice. "I'm your new Poppy."

Joe's bottom lip started to quiver as he blinked back unexpected tears. Taking a shuddering breath, he tentatively took the man's hand and shook it – his touch feather-light but heartfelt. "I – I never had a Poppy before," he said quietly.

"Well you do now," Francis assured him, his own eyes suspiciously bright. Then releasing the little hand, he winked and stood up – the child's blue eyes following him – and nodded to his son. "You did good, Fenton." And then he turned his attention to Laura.

------

Agnes watched the exchange, oblivious to the cold. Her heart quivered and she smiled ever so slightly. Francis was right. It would be just fine.

------

"So where's Gertie?" Fenton asked as he sat on the edge of the couch in his parent's fireplace-dominated living room and watched the two boys looking at the ornaments on the festively decorated tree. Laura sat beside him, her fingers laced through his, a look of utter peace and contentment on her face, while Francis fiddled with the fire, complaining that it just wasn't burning right.

"Your sister can't get here until tomorrow morning," Agnes said as she came into the room carrying a tray laden down with coffee for the adults, and hot chocolate for the boys. She stopped at giving them any cookies, although her pantry was overflowing with the efforts of her almost-month-long baking extravaganza, but she refused to see them hyped up on sugar on Christmas Eve. There was enough excitement in the air without adding a sugar rush in. "She was running behind and I told her that I didn't want her driving down here in the dark, so she's leaving early to be here in time for the presents."

"Well that's the main thing—" Francis said gruffly, finally leaving the fire alone and sitting down heavily in a comfortable arm chair, "isn't it, boys?" He addressed the children who nodded as they sat down on the floor and took the small mugs of hot chocolate Agnes offered them.

"Manners," Laura hinted mildly and was rewarded by two very quick 'thank you's'. She smiled and shook her head as she looked at her mother-in-law, "We do try."

"Children are children," Agnes commented as she took the now empty tray back into the kitchen and then stared out the window at the dark night. She saw it was starting to snow and sighed, relieved that her daughter was not going to be driving tonight. Turning around, she went back into the living room to rejoin her family.

------

The golden retriever, stretched out on the floor, thumped his tail heavily when Joe bent down to give him a rub. He was feeling much better now about things, although he still had one more person to meet – Gertrude. He really liked the old man but was still a bit nervous around the old woman. She seemed pleasant enough but the child just wasn't sure yet. Frank's Nanny was much harder to read than their Poppy.

"Did Frankie tell you he named Sam?" Francis asked as he watched the little boy running his fingers through the almost amber silky fur. Joe liked dogs but this was the most he had ever been around one before.

"No," the child admitted as Frank sat next to him on a big braided circular mat. They had taken up positions in front of the tree and looked up expectantly at the retired cop.

"We got Sam when Frankie was about two," the man explained, "and he was so excited to see the puppy, but all he could say was 'Sam Sam' as he chased the poor pup all around the house…so we called the dog Sam."

"Wow," Joe was genuinely impressed. He'd never named anything in his whole entire life.

"Thank goodness the child was a slow talker," Francis continued, grinning at Frank's aghast expression, "or who knows what poor Sam's name might have been."

"_Poppy!"_ the dark-haired boy leapt from the mat and into his grandfather's lap. "You take that back!"

"Take what back?" Francis teased, "You? Sure – just tell me where you came from."

"I think two little boys need to get ready for bed," Laura said, smiling as she rose from the couch. If she didn't stop this now, he'd have the boys all riled up and they would never get to sleep this night.

"Awwww Mom," Frank immediately complained from his grandfather's lap. "Do we have to? I wanted to stay up again this year to see Santa! I was soooo close last year!" He turned to the younger boy. "Poppy lets me stay up every year to wait for Santa—" he scowled, "but I keep falling asleep. But last year I was sooo close! Wasn't I, Poppy?"

"So close," the old man agreed and then winked at Laura and his son before turning an earnest eye onto the children. "Well, maybe if you go upstairs, put your pajamas on, brush your teeth and wash your face—" he looked around conspiratorially and then lowered his voice to a loud whisper, "I'll work on your Mom and Dad and see if I can't get them to change their minds about you staying up. Frankie was soooo close last year…I think this year he might just make it."

The boys' eyes went wide as they nodded quickly. Frank scurried off Francis' lap and grabbed Joe's arm, almost hauling the boy to his feet in his haste to get upstairs.

"C'mon Joey! You heard Poppy!" he hissed loudly, "We're going to get to see Santa!"

Fenton rolled his eyes even as he felt his wife squeeze his hand. His father knew how to work a crowd….

"Well, what do you say?" Francis asked after the kids had vanished upstairs, "Can they stay up?"

"One of these years," Fenton warned him, "this won't work. Eventually they will be able to stay awake all night."

"I know," admitted his father, "but not this year."

Fenton shook his head – his father was right of course…not this year.

------

Ten minutes later, two freshly scrubbed and changed little boys excitedly planted themselves on the couch, ensconced in a warm flannel blanket and waited….

------

Outside the farmhouse, at the end of the winding driveway, a man sat in his car and watched. The engine was kept running to keep him from getting cold. As he saw the last of the lights turned down, he put the vehicle in gear in and drove away.

He'd give them Christmas. After all, he wasn't completely heartless…and then afterwards, he'd have a nice little chat with Fenton Hardy – _father to father…._

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

_One small note, in case anyone isn't aware, I am a major get-Joe girl so please don't complain when you start to read one of my stories and realize there is going to be Joe in some sort of trouble; be it emotional or physical because that is what I like to write __; and I don't really care what everyone else is writing or how prevalent something might seem in the fandom since their AU's are not mine so it is not connetected. And really? Comments to the such really do not do anything to inspire._

_So…if that's not your liking you won't like the story _

_Okay, one other small note, I don't write Nancy Drew. She has her own universe and I like to keep her in it._

_I just thought it would be fair to give ya a heads up :P_

_Enjoy!_

**The First Noel**

**Chapter 2**

Fenton Hardy stood by the Christmas tree and looked down at the sleeping boys. As predicted, the children had not lasted much past ten-thirty but he was hesitant to move them so soon. They looked so peaceful.

Both boys were lying on their sides facing him, Joe snuggled up against his brother's back as Frank was on the outside, one hand under his cheek and the other resting over the one Joe had draped over his side. Fenton wished the lighting was better so he could take a picture, but all the lights had been turned off and only the glow of the fireplace and tree lit the room.

This was Joe's first Christmas with them and Fenton sincerely hoped that it would be one of those special ones that the little boy would never forget….

------

"Told you," a gruff voice spoke quietly behind the young investigator; startling him as he had not heard his father coming back into the living room. His mother and Laura had already gone to bed, anticipating an early wake-up call first by a turkey and then by two excited children – Francis had gone to let the dog outside for the last time before bedtime. "Poor little bairns would never last 'til eleven, let alone much longer."

"Yeah you did," Fenton sighed, a fond smile playing across his handsome face, "but one of these years I'm going to be right."

"Not in my lifetime," Francis scoffed, good-naturedly, and then placed his hand on his son's shoulder as he came to stand beside the younger man and looked down at the sleeping children. Neither said anything for a few moments until Francis spoke again. "Them boys are brothers for sure… No doubting that." His hand dropped and he indicated Frank, "You want to take him up to bed – I'll bring Joey."

Fenton nodded as he carefully scooped up the child and then moved towards the stairs, giving his father access to the younger boy.

Francis leaned over and gently slid an arm beneath Joe but stopped when the child's eyes flew open and he recoiled slightly from the old man.

"Whoa, easy, Joey," the ex-cop soothed; not really expecting this reaction but not really surprised by it either. He knew the child had been living in a state-run facility for the past few months and might be skittish for a bit. "It's just your Poppy." He moved slightly so the little boy could see Fenton, who had stopped and turned around, Frank still in his arms, at the sound of his father's voice. "See, there's Daddy and Frankie."

"Joey?" Fenton called out softly, "Are you okay, son?"

The little boy looked at his father and brother before his gaze returned to the man standing in front of him. He slowly nodded.

"Sorry," the child murmured as he pushed the blanket off his small body and cautiously stood up. He looked at the tree and sighed but never said anything, obviously disappointed that Santa had not been here yet and now they were being taken to bed.

Francis held out his hand and after a moment, the child took it and let himself be led up the stairs and into the cozy room he was sharing with Frank. After tucking the boys into their bed, the men quietly closed the door and went back downstairs to lock up for the night and then put out the presents.

The dog stayed behind, having chosen to crawl up between the young brothers and stretch out in their bed.

"What do you know about the boy's past?" the ex-cop asked his son as they worked quietly.

"Not much really," Fenton admitted, "his mother is dead and no one knows his father. Joey's been a ward of the state for the past couple of months – that's pretty much about it. Why?"

"No reason really," Francis said passing his son the gifts to put under the tree. He paused as his gaze flickered towards the stairs. "State-run facilities are awfully hard on the younger ones."

Fenton followed his father's gaze and nodded as he stood up. "They are," he agreed and then added, "but Joey's a good kid and is already starting to relax around us."

"I've no doubt," Francis admitted as he regarded the display of presents beneath the tree. His face warmed with affection, the older man smiled, "It's good to have you home again Fenton…I'm proud of you, son."

"It's good to be home," the detective admitted, not referring to the house, as this was not the one he had grown up in. It was the company that made 'home', and they both knew it. A flush of color filled his cheeks as he added, "And thanks, Dad."

Satisfied that everything was ready for Christmas morning, father and son went upstairs together and then to their respective rooms.

------

Joe opened up his eyes and stared straight into a pair of warm brown ones set in a fuzzy face. "Merry Christmas, Sam," he whispered to the dog as he lay quietly in the bed for a few more moments, listening intently for the sounds of anyone else being up, but hearing nothing. On the other side of him, Frank was still sleeping, and the younger boy had no idea if he should just go ahead and wake him up or not.

His face crinkled in a frown. Although he and Frank got along very well and Joe had taken an instant liking to his new sibling, there was still so much he didn't know about the six-year-old, and he didn't want to do anything to make Frank not like him anymore. So he just lay in the bed and waited – although being only five and knowing that Santa Claus would have come by now, it was difficult at best to wait, and against his own will, his body fidgeted beneath the coverings. It was his constant little movements that finally woke the older boy.

"IT'S CHRISTMAS!" the dark-haired child shrieked excitedly as his eyes flew open. Grabbing the startled blond boy in a tight hug, Frank half-pulled him off the bed. "Merry Christmas, Joey! Come on! We gotta make sure Santa's been here!"

Needing no further encouragement, Joe slithered out from beneath the blankets and chased after Frank as he raced out of the room calling out to everyone to get up because it was Christmas.

Joe couldn't help but laugh at his brother's excitement even as it matched his own, and within moments other bedroom doors were being opened by adults – housecoat-gowned and slipper-footed.

------

"Merry Christmas, Frankie. Merry Christmas, Joey!" Laura called out, smiling at the retreating forms of her sons as they hurried down the stairs. Sam brushed by in his haste to catch up, nearly knocking the blond woman off the stairs; her husband's quick reflexes steadied Laura and then pulled her close for a quick Christmas kiss.

A definite air of festivity ruled the house….

Joey hit the bottom step a second behind his brother and then froze. Sitting in the living room, at the end of the couch, was someone he had never seen before.

The woman, tall and stern-looking, had dark brown hair pulled back in a bun and bright blue eyes, partially hidden by glasses. She was just finishing a cup of tea and raised her eyebrows questioningly at the children, but before she could say anything Frank ran over and gave her a quick hug. "Auntie Gertrude," he said, "Merry Christmas."

The woman's stern countenance melted as she smiled fondly at her nephew and tousled his dark hair, "Merry Christmas Frankie—" she looked across at Joe who was still standing at the foot of the stairs, like a deer caught in the headlights. Her smile extended to him, "And this must be Joey…Merry Christmas, Joey."

"M-Merry Christmas," the little boy stammered softly, jumping slightly when Fenton laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Joey…son… This is my sister, Gertrude," he did a more formal introduction, "Your Auntie Gertrude." Giving the child a nudge to get him going again, Fenton quickly crossed the distance and gave his older sister a quick hug as Joe moved towards Frank.

Frank's pajama-clad bottom half was now barely visible beneath the huge tree even as he called out for the younger boy to _'get here – you gotta see this'_. "Glad you made it Gert," Fenton said releasing his sister.

"I wouldn't have missed this for the world," the woman assured him as their mother, Agnes, came out of the kitchen and shook her head at the lot of them. The smell of cooking turkey wafted out behind her.

"Sleepy heads," she chided, "I've been up for hours now."

"Oh Mother," cooed Francis, the last one down, "no one speaks 'turkey' like you do or else I'd have conversed with the bird myself."

"Indeed you wouldn't have!" Agnes returned and then smiled, "Now that Gertie's here and everyone is up, I think it's present time."

Although mostly engulfed in a Christmas tree, Frank heard her magic words, and within moments the cozy living room floor was littered with brightly colored paper….

------

Fenton wrapped his arms around his wife as they watched the two young boys pillaging under the tree. He squeezed his bride and whispered in her ear, "Are you happy, darling?"

His beautiful angel turned around, held his face tenderly in her soft hands and smiled. "Fenton, what you have given me…first in Frank and now in Joey….I – you…" Tears filled her pale blue eyes; unable to put her feelings into words, she kissed him...and when she finally pulled away, her words were for him only. "Yes. I am…."

The detective sucked in a shuddering breath, unprepared for her emotional response to his question…or his own. _If_ there had been any lingering doubt about their decision to adopt, it was lost in those three words…

_Yes. I am._

And as Gertrude knelt down by the boys and helped Joe open one of his gifts, Fenton glanced at his parents. They were sitting together on the couch, his father's arm around his mother's shoulders, watching the boys – not just Frank, but Joe also. And he knew that any concerns he had had about his family's acceptance of his children was unfounded.

The only people in that room were _Hardys_…each and every one of them

**------**

The next couple of days passed in a blur of turkey and snow for Joe and Frank. A storm had settled over the area on Christmas Day and dumped over a foot of snow on them in less than twenty-four hours; and by the time it had snowed itself out, the land lay under a fresh blanket of two feet – deeper in some areas.

It was very picturesque and the brothers were anxious to get outside and enjoy it. Amongst a king's ransom in gifts, Santa had brought them new snowsuits – red for Frank, blue for Joe – new snowboots, hats, mittens, scarves…apparently the jolly old elf was very well aware of the impending weather.

Joe was still amazed by it all; the genuine caring and affection he received from his new family – both immediate and extended; the bountiful gifts and good cheer that enveloped the restored old house twenty-four hours a day; and the snow. It wasn't the first time the child had seen the stuff, but it was definitely the most he had ever seen. And as he grew more comfortable with his family, they began to see the real child that lurked inside the little blond boy they called 'Joey;' a mischievous light-hearted spirit, with an infectious giggle and wonderful sense of humor.

Fenton's father had taken to the child particularly, endeared by the sparks of wariness and fear that he sometimes glimpsed in the vibrant blue eyes, and spent hours with both him and Frank, talking, tormenting…teaching; recognizing and respecting the comfort zone the older boy represented to Joe.

The old man was awed as he watched the beginning of an intense bond being formed as a blossoming protectiveness by Frank was tempered by the genuine hero worship of him by Joe. The sun rose and set on the dark-haired boy, as far as the younger boy was concerned.

'S_oul brothers_,' the old man mused as he watched the children putting together a puzzle that Joe had gotten from him and Agnes. Frank seemed to have limitless patience for the younger boy, and the old man was amused to see the calming influence he had over Joe, as evident when the blond boy became very frustrated with the puzzle they were working on… but a few soothing words of '_Calm down. We can do this'_ from Frank were enough. Joe didn't look very happy but he did definitely take a deep breath and settle down.

'_They give each other patience and perseverance,'_ he realized, startled yet unabashedly proud of the boys – these were _his_ grandsons. And handsome, to boot.

His thoughts were interrupted when Sam started to bark and ran towards the front door. The ex-cop was a bit surprised, as Fenton had taken the women-folk into town for shopping and they weren't expected back yet.

"Stay here," he instructed the boys as he stood up and slowly made his way to the front door in time to see a silver sedan pull up out front and a man Francis had never seen before, step out. The man was about Fenton's age but a bit heavier set with curly black hair and a ruddy face. He rubbed his hands together briskly against the biting cold as he hurried towards the door.

"Hello," Francis greeted the newcomer, "Can I help you?"

"You most certainly can," the younger man said pleasantly, even as he glanced around. His apparent nervousness set off warning bells for the ex-cop. "I'm looking for Fenton Hardy."

"He's my son," the old man said a bit curtly, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Well no, I don't think so," the stranger said, still not meeting Francis' gaze. "Is your son home?"

"No, he's not." Francis was going to make this guy work for every piece of information he gave.

"Oh." The younger man seemed a bit taken back by his reception. "Well, can you tell me then, when he'll be home?"

"Poppy, who is it?" Frank asked, coming up behind his grandfather. Francis grabbed his shoulder gently to keep the boy from going any further.

"Frank, go back in the kitchen," the old man said, a bit more harshly than he intended, but he didn't want his grandson anywhere near this guy.

"This must be Fenton's son," the man said quickly before Frank had a chance to leave, "he looks just like him." He flashed a smile that sent a shiver down Francis's back. "Funny thing how some boys look just like their dads and others don't."

"Yeah, real funny," Francis said, relieved when Frank listened to him and left the room. The boy shot him an uncomprehending look as he left, obviously confused by his grandfather's abruptness. Francis returned his full attention to the newcomer. "Fenton isn't here. If you'll leave your name and a number he can reach you at, I'll let him know you dropped by."

"Actually that won't work for me," the man said, shifting on his feet – it was damn cold out. "Do you mind if I come in to wait? It's very important."

Francis was hesitant, his every instinct telling him not to trust this guy, but then he sighed and stepped back, allowing the man to come inside. Sam growled softly and kept an unblinking eye on the man. "You can wait here," Francis indicated the bench next to the door. He was not going to let the stranger into the house any further than that, "with the dog." The ex-cop glanced at the dog, "Sam. Stay." Instantly the animal sat down, his brown eyes still fixed on the man.

"That's mighty nice of you," the stranger said – they both knew he didn't mean it. He struck out his hand, "Name's Joe Rigado, friends call me JR…sorry, I never got yours."

"I never gave it," Francis said, a shiver going down his spine at the name. _'Coincidence surely'_, he thought, '_Joe's a pretty common name.'_ Changing tactics, he shook the other man's hand briefly and when he spoke, his tone was much more friendly, "Nice to meet you JR – my name's Frank."

"Ah, like your grandson," JR said as he undid his coat and then sat down on the bench, "guess it's pretty common for people to name their kids after their dads – or granddads, in your case."

"Possibly," Francis said. He heard Joe laughing in the kitchen and felt torn. He wanted to go back with the boys, but didn't want to leave Mr. Rigado alone, either. His dilemma was solved a moment later when the boys came out of the kitchen and headed towards the tree, obviously to choose something else to play with, as Joe was carrying the puzzle box. The old man started to send them back to the kitchen but realized that would be unfair. Not wanting to upset the children, he decided this might work out best. He could be with the boys AND keep an eye on the stranger.

"What are you boys doing?" he asked them as he saw the younger child slide the puzzle box back under the tree. Frank was lost from view for a few moments as he crawled amongst the gifts, and then popped up with a book.

"Found it," the older boy said and then plopped down in the big chair next to the fireplace. He looked at his grandfather, a bit surprised to notice the stranger sitting on the bench next to the door. Neither boy had noticed him until now. "We wanted to look at my new book," he answered the question as Joe slid into the chair next to him, his blue eyes large in his face and looking slightly alarmed to see the man next to his grandfather. "So I'm going to read it to Joey."

"Joey," JR whispered, his dark eyes fixed on the little blond boy who seemed to shrivel under his gaze. Francis suddenly regretted letting this man into his house – he did not like the way Rigado was staring at the children.

"Boys, upstairs. Now. Frank, take the book and your brother. Read in your room." Francis' tone was curt and brooked no nonsense. Though shocked – as that was the tone his grandfather reserved for when he did something wrong – the older boy did what he was told. And within moments the two children, and the book, were upstairs and the door was heard closing.

Francis winced – they'd slammed it. _'Oh well'_, he thought, _'I can make things right with them later. First things first.'_ He glared at the stranger. "Okay, Mr. Rigado. Enough of this. I want to know why you're here and why you want to speak to my son. And I want to know now."

The younger man looked at him and then shrugged. For the first time he met Francis's gaze; his eyes were dark and cold. "You son has something that belongs to me. And I want it back."

"Oh, and what's that?" the ex-cop demanded, although he suspected he already knew the answer. He was right.

Rigado looked towards the stairs where the children had disappeared. He said only two words: "My son."

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for all the lovely comments. And I want to remind… that some things in this story are not what they first appear. Keep that in mind as you read. And make no assumptions :{P

**The First Noel**

**Chapter 3**

Gertrude Hardy watched the younger blond woman as they waited outside the store for Fenton and Agnes to come back to the vehicle. With the recent heavy snowfall, it was deemed more sensible for them to take Francis's Suburban into town, instead of one of the cars. Agnes hated to drive the big SUV so her son ended up being the shuttle driver for the day.

Fenton put up a fuss, muttering about being 'a pack mule with a license,' but no one paid him much mind, knowing that he really didn't mind doing so, and it afforded his father some alone time with the boys. His sister had been wanting to talk to Laura since Christmas, but had not found the perfect chance to do so, until now…

Clearing her throat slightly, Gertrude chose her words carefully. She was not very good at expressing her thoughts and didn't want to come off abrupt or uncaring when she wasn't. She was genuinely fond of her sister-in-law and her brother's young family.

Laura glanced at her and the older woman licked her lips nervously and then asked quietly, "So how are you doing? _Really_?" Gert wasn't stupid, she knew that the petite woman would do anything for Fenton, and she was afraid that this might be one of those times, when Laura might be putting him ahead of herself. While the matronly Hardy did like Joey, she just wanted to make sure everything was exactly how it looked.

The blond woman knew what she was really asking and smiled gently, reaching out to touch Gertrude's arm slightly. "I'm doing very well. Better in fact than I've been for a long while—" She paused, her pale blue eyes clouding over in pain briefly as she continued, "it was hard – in the beginning…after the baby….I felt like something was missing. That I'd lost a part of me I wasn't sure I'd ever get back. I dunno….Empty. Hollow…I – I can't really explain it…"

Gertrude put her hand over Laura's and squeezed – she understood what the other woman was trying to say, even if there was no way she could feel it.

The sadness on Laura's face was replaced with something else. "But now that we have Joey, I don't feel like that so much anymore." She smiled softly. "It's like I finally have that missing piece – I know it doesn't make any sense. But he belongs….That's just the best way I can say it. I know it deep down and I can feel it right here—" She moved her hand and touched her coat in the place right over her heart. "He's my son." She smiled. "I have my family, Gertrude, and right now I just couldn't be happier."

The older woman swallowed back the lump in her throat that had formed as she listened to her sister-in-law's very candid answer. Gertrude nodded, pleased and relieved, an awkward smile twisting her lips. Laura was a very good woman. She deserved to be happy – to have her family – to have Fenton. They were good for each other.

"That's very good," was all Gertrude could say. And she meant it from the bottom of her heart.

"Now if Fenton and your mom would hurry up," Laura added, shifting her gaze back to the store, "we might get back to the house before my sons graduate."

Gertrude laughed – oh yes, Laura was perfect for Fenton.

------

"What's the matter?" Joe asked Frank as he saw the unaccustomed scowl on the older boy's face. They were in the small room the boys were sharing, but while Joe was sitting on the edge of the bed holding the book his brother had dropped there, Frank was standing by the door, glaring at it.

"Poppy!" Frank said, "he's acting all mean and angry! It's because of that strange man – I just know it! What does he want, anyways?"

"Oh," Joe said, unsure of how to respond. He didn't see anything particularly wrong with how Francis had treated them, but then again he didn't know the old man as well as his brother did. "What do you want to do?" he added a moment later.

"I want to go downstairs and tell that man to leave so Poppy'll be okay again. But he'll only be madder if we do that." The dark-haired boy kicked the door with his foot. Not hard enough to hurt or to be heard downstairs, but it made him feel a bit better. He sighed and looked at the younger boy. "What do you want to do?"

Joe looked at the book and then Frank. His face crinkled thoughtfully and his brother actually had to laugh at the intense seriousness on the young face. Finally he shrugged, "We can read the book like we were going to…"

"Yeah—" Frank agreed slowly and then added, "or?"

"Or," a twinkle of mischievousness lit up the blue eyes, "we can hide on the top of the stairs and see what we can find out about the stranger." When the older boy looked a bit skeptical, the child continued, "I'm really good at sneaking. Just do what I do, and they won't ever know we're there."

Frank opened his mouth to ask Joe how he got so good at sneaking but then stopped. In the short time he had known his little brother, he had learned that there were certain things the blond boy would not talk to him about – namely anything that had to do with his life before coming to live with him. So he just accepted what Joe said without asking; guessing correctly that the ability to move around the orphanage soundlessly was a survival skill.

"Okay," Frank nodded once, "we sneak."

Putting the book down, Joe slipped quietly off the bed and over to the door. Pressing his ear against it, his hand gently turned the knob. He looked at Frank, put his finger over his lips in a 'be quiet' gesture and noiselessly led them out of the room.

------

"What?" Francis wanted to roar but somehow managed enough restraint not to – knowing the children would hear.

"You heard me, old man," Rigado said, rising from the bench as he spoke. Sam growled but stayed sitting. "That boy – Joey – he's my son. Your son has him and I want him back."

"You're crazy," the ex-cop scoffed, feeling heat rise in his face. "His father is unknown—"

"What else do you think they'd say?" the younger man retorted. "Just how naïve are you?" he continued, before Francis could answer. "The point is moot anyway. I'm the kid's father and that's that. Besides, my business is with your son, not you."

"Anything concerning my son or his boys concerns me," Francis growled, resisting the strong urge to throttle this man. "But if you think you can just waltz in here, proclaim your paternity and then waltz right back out with that child – you've got another think coming!"

The two men glared at one other for a full minute until finally Rigado put up his hands in a placating gesture. "Whoa, easy, old fella. Don't have a heart attack or something. I think we can work this out to the betterment of everyone concerned – assuming that is, that your son is a reasonable man."

"Just what the hell are you talking about?" the retiree demanded, but Rigado shook his head and sat back down.

"Uh-uh. Not until Fenton is here. I don't like repeating myself."

"Fine," Francis said, folding his arms and locking eyes with the other man, "we wait."

And they did. For almost an hour, the ex-cop glared at the other man, who shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze until finally they heard the sound of a vehicle pulling up out front.

"He's here," Francis announced but still didn't move. When Agnes, Gertrude, Laura and Fenton came into the house a few minutes later, laden down with the fruits of their shopping, the ex-cop excused himself and his son immediately, dismissing the women's questions about the stranger as 'no one important.' Indicating for Rigado to follow them, the men stepped outside the house and away from eager ears.

------

The two little boys crept back into their room.

"Well that was a complete waste of time," Frank grouched, slumping down on the bed. It had been incredibly difficult to be quiet for the long time his grandfather and the stranger had stood in their stalemate. The boy had actually breathed a big sigh of relief when he heard everyone else finally get home. He had newfound respect for his younger brother, though – Frank knew Joe was a fidgeter, yet somehow the blond child seemed to have no trouble holding his position, being quiet and not moving for almost an hour.

"Yeah," Joe agreed, lying down on the bed on his back, next to Frank, "we learned one thing though."

The dark-haired boy looked at him and Joe continued, "It's something to do with me."

------

The snow crunched under their feet as the three men moved away from the house, until Francis was satisfied that they had gone far enough. He turned to Fenton and said bluntly, "This man is claiming to be Joey's father."

"What?" Fenton's voice rang with disbelief even as his face paled. He sized the stranger up, noting the dark curly hair, the dark eyes and the ruddy complexion. Joe looked nothing like this man.

"You heard him," Rigado said, his voice nasty and curt, "I'm the brat's father." Both Fenton and Francis stiffened – if this guy was Joe's father he obviously didn't care about the child at all.

"What do you want?" The amount of coldness in the younger Hardy's voice surprised both him and his father.

Rigado smiled and it was not a pleasant thing to see. "It's simple, " he said, "You like my kid. That's easy enough to see – and I need money. Can I be any clearer than that?"

Fenton's fist was flying before anyone could react. Cracking against the stranger's jaw, he knocked Rigado to the ground.

"Get the hell out of here," he growled; Francis came to stand behind him, as he towered over the fallen man – not to stop him but as backup.

The man flexed his jaw cautiously but didn't move.

"You heard me," Fenton continued in the same low and deadly tone, "Get the hell out of here. Now! Stay away from me. Stay away from my family. If I see you anywhere near my sons I will have you arrested. Have I made myself clear?"

Slowly Rigado got to his feet. "Crystal," he said and started to move away. He stopped near his car and looked back at the Hardy men. "You'll regret this," he promised. "You should have taken my offer."

Francis restrained Fenton before the young detective could go after the man and pummel him. "He's not worth it, son," the ex-cop said. "I got his name and the tag on that car. Let me make a few calls and see what we can find out about this Joe Rigado."

Fenton glanced at his father when he heard the name and then nodded: "We'll get him the smart way."

"The _only_ way," Francis added, squeezing his son's shoulder gently. They watched the car pulling away from the house until it was out of sight. Then they went back inside; Fenton was filled with a very strong desire to see his sons.

------

As Rigado drove away from the house, he rubbed his jaw gingerly. Damn it, the detective threw a mean punch.

"Fine," he snorted, "the hard way it is."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you for all the lovely comments. I Hope you like this one too:{P

**The First Noel**

**Chapter 4**

Two unhappy-looking faces greeted Fenton when he opened the door and went into the room the little boys were sharing. Joe was sitting on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest while Frank was standing by the door.

"Is everything okay?" the detective asked, moving into the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

"Who was that man?" Frank asked immediately, surprising his father by his abruptness. The children were obviously agitated and Fenton's heart rate picked up a bit – maybe Joe had recognized the stranger…

Ignoring Frank's question for the moment, the sleuth addressed the younger child: "Do you know him, Joey?"

The blond head shook slightly as the child bit his lip, anxiously.

"Are you sure you've never seen him around before?" Fenton pressed, wishing he could read the child a bit better. _Was he being evasive or did he genuinely not recognize Joe Rigado?_

"Yes sir," Joe answered quietly and then added, "but Poppy didn't seem to like him very much."

"And Poppy was all grumpy around the man," Frank put in, sitting down on the bed next to his brother and glaring at his father – obviously displeased not to have been answered. He repeated, "Who is he?"

"I don't know really," Fenton finally answered, "but your grandfather and I intend to find out." He looked intently at each child. He didn't want to say anything about Rigado's claim until he knew for sure whether or not it was true. No use getting everyone upset if the guy was lying. "In the meantime, if you see that man anywhere, you come tell me or Poppy right away. You don't go near him – no matter what he says, got it?" He knew that his father was saying the same basic thing to the women, admonishing them not to deal with the man themselves and to keep the children close. Neither man was naive or stupid – they knew there was a very good chance Mr. Rigado would be back.

"But—" Frank started.

Fenton cut him off: "No buts, Frankie." He touched the little boy's cheek and looked intently into the dark brown eyes, watching the flicker of defiance melting at the touch. "I don't want anything to happen to you or your brother. Is that understood?"

"Is he a b-bad man?" Joe's voice quivered slightly on the word 'bad' and Fenton knelt on the floor between the boys and reached out to brush a lock of golden hair out of the bright blue eyes, relieved when the child didn't flinch.

"I don't know yet," the detective admitted, although deep down in his gut, his instincts were screaming 'yes'. However if Rigado did turn out to be Joe's natural father, Fenton did not want to be badmouthing him in front of the child. "But we need to be careful. He is a stranger and you know you don't ever talk to or go with strangers, don't you?" He held Joe's gaze as he spoke, knowing Frank knew about strangers but not so sure about the younger boy – _had anyone ever given him that talk?_

After a moment Joe nodded his head. Satisfied, Fenton stood up. "So we're good on this, then? You boys will stay close to the house and get a grownup if you see that man anywhere?"

"We will, Daddy," Frank promised, his young face solemn, having taken to heart his father's warning. He glanced at his brother, "And we'll stick together too!"

"Like glue," Joe added, a slight smile replacing the anxiousness of moments before.

"Good," the detective nodded, "now why don't you come downstairs? It's a beautiful afternoon and I bet there's a snowman somewhere outside just begging to be built!"

Two pairs of eyes lit up, as did Fenton's heart. He added, "And if you'll let me, I'd love to help you make it."

He need not have asked and within minutes, Frank and Joe were getting bundled up in their new snow gear and babbling excitedly to the adults about how they were going to build the 'bestest snowman ever'.

"Best," Laura corrected, rolling her eyes and laughing as her husband defended the children's awful grammar.

"_Bestest_ is a brand name, darling," he assured her as he escorted two boys and one excited Golden Retriever out into the white winter land, where they spent almost two hours constructing their 'snow person,' until finally Agnes called them back in for hot chocolate…and cookies.

------

Joe Rigado sat in the small diner and chain-smoked his way through two cups of coffee. In the back of his mind a plan was forming and he smiled to himself, stunned that he hadn't thought of it before.

He was just getting up to leave when he saw a distinguished-looking gray-haired man in his mid forties come into the diner and talk to one of the waitresses for a moment. Turning to leave, their eyes met, and the man stared at him in shock before hurrying forward, his hand extended in greeting.

"JR!" the man said, "I'm surprised to see you here. Merry Christmas, old friend."

"Merry Christmas yourself, Cecil," Rigado greeted, as he cursed his luck about this turn of events. After shaking hands, he indicated toward one of the empty chairs at the table – a wordless invitation for the older man to join him. "I thought you were staying in the city for the holidays."

"No, not this year," Cecil said, sitting down, "Gertie's been wanting me to meet her family for some time now, so I thought I would surprise her and just show up. Besides, she speaks of them so frequently, I just have to finally meet them. And you? I thought you were going to Stanton Island to visit your sister?"

"I did," the man lied, "and then drove her down here so we could spend the New Year's with a cousin of ours. Small world," he added.

"Very much so," Cecil admitted agreeably and then started to stand up again, "Anyway JR, I can't stay – though I'd love it. I just stopped in to get some directions to her parents' place; I'm staying at the Wander Inn, room 204; look me up before you take off and we'll have a drink or something together."

"Will do," Rigado said, also standing up.

"I'll bring Gertrude," Cecil added before leaving. "You two haven't met yet but I know you'll get along just famously."

"I'm sure we will," the younger man said, walking his friend to the door. "You've certainly told me enough about her!" Without further ado, Cecil bid him good-bye and then hurried back outside.

After paying his bill, Joe Rigado left as well. He needed to buy rope. Thin rope. After all, if his plan was going to work he'd need something a small child could not get out of…handcuffs would just not do.

------

"It sure is a terrific snowman," Joe said to Frank as the children left the kitchen, bellies contentedly warm again from their grandmother's treat. The adults were still chattering away about things that didn't interest little boys, so they had gone into the living room.

"Yeah, the bestest ever," Frank agreed and then they both laughed and corrected, "best ever."

"Come on," Joe started to walk towards the front door, "I want to see him again." With Sam at their heels, the two children quickly made their way to the door, opened it up and peered out into the darkening late afternoon. The snowman looked magnificent and the blond boy inadvertently stepped out onto the porch in his excitement to see it. But as his stocking feet hit a patch of ice a hand grabbed his arm.

Staring up into the face of a stranger, the little boy let out a terrified scream!

"Whoa, little one!" the stranger said, quickly releasing the child as the dog growled and started to bark, putting himself between the man and the child. Almost instantly two other men were right there, shielding the children; it wasn't hard to see the family resemblance between them. Both had dark hair and dark eyes, like the older boy.

"Joey, are you okay?" Fenton demanded, without turning around, as he sized up the newcomer; his face hardened and his breathing was a bit heavy after the sprint he'd just done from the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," the man apologized before the child could answer. His face paled and he stammered – obviously unnerved by Joe's reaction. "I – I didn't mean to scare him. He—"

"Cecil? _Cecil Mouland_?" Gertrude called out as she saw the man at the door. She moved by her mother and sister-in-law to get to the door, as a badly shaken Joe fled to Laura for comfort, Frank right behind him. "What in heaven's name are you doing here?"

"You know this man?" Fenton was confused and glanced at his father. The senior Hardy shrugged his shoulders, having no more idea than his son, as Sam stood beside them, growling softly in warning. A mere shake of Francis's head and the dog quieted.

"Of course I do," the woman scoffed as she pushed past her brother. "This is my male friend Cecil."

"I was planning to surprise you," the man replied, his face twisted in regret as he looked at the upset little boy. "I was just getting ready to knock on the door when it opened…I didn't mean to scare the child—" he repeated, "but I don't think he saw me standing there…"

"Why'd you grab him then?" Frank's voice interrupted. He was standing next to his mother and brother, his dark eyes narrowed in anger and suspicion; his hands on his hips…a picture of six-year-old formidability.

"I didn't want him to fall," Cecil defended as he glanced back towards the landing behind him, "the footing is a bit slippery and he's nothing on his feet but socks."

"Okay," Agnes said, having heard enough to figure out what had actually happened…an unfortunate misunderstanding. Taking charge of the situation she instructed briskly, "Laura, take Joey and Frankie into the kitchen. A warm glass of milk and one more cookie should help remedy the problem without ruining their bellies for supper."

As her daughter-in-law ushered the children out of the room, the older woman continued; her tone brooked no nonsense: "The rest of you come into the living room and close that door. I'm not paying to heat the whole state. Gertrude, don't be rude, take your guest's hat and coat – I'll get some fresh coffee and we can properly greet Mr. Mouland." She glanced once more at her husband and added, "And for pity's sake, Francis, let that dog outside before he soils the flooring!"

Gertrude flashed her mother an appreciative look as the older woman hurried out of the living room.

------

"_Cecil?"_ Fenton whispered to father, as he stood by the door and waited with the older man for Sam to finish his business and come back inside. "Who's Cecil?"

"I dunno," the ex-cop whispered back, glancing over his shoulder at his daughter, who was fussing over this 'Cecil' character, "I was hoping you could tell me."

"_A male friend?" _Fenton raised his eyebrows suggestively – using Gertrude's words – and his father frowned at him.

"Mind out of the gutter, son. Your sister's not like that." he chastised.

"Oh, and why not?" Fenton asked, arching his eyebrow and barely keeping from grinning at his father's horrified look.

"Because she's my baby girl and I say so, that's why." Francis snapped softly. "This conversation is over…right now."

Fenton stifled a snicker at his father's indignation and pressed – he loved goading the old man, as it was an opportunity so seldom afforded him. "So you think _Mom_ knows who Cecil is?"

"Undoubtedly," Francis assured him as Sam came charging back into the house, shook himself and then hurried into the kitchen to find the children.

"What makes you so sure she does?" the young detective challenged, his dark brown eyes sparking in the dim light of the doorway.

"Because," now it was the older Hardy's turn to smirk, "your mother knows everything."

------

"Are you okay?" Laura asked the boys after she got them settled at the table with two glasses of milk.

Frank looked at Joe who just shrugged and took a small sip of the hastily-warmed milk. "We are," he answered for them both and then scowled, "but he shouldn't have grabbed Joey."

"Would you have rather your brother slipped and maybe hurt himself?" Agnes's voice came from behind them, much softer than was usual for her. She had come into the kitchen in time to hear her grandson's admonition.

Frank frowned and the older woman continued as she moved towards the cookie jar and liberated two large, round chocolate chip treats. She offered one to each child. "The entranceway was slippery and with socks on, Joey would have fallen if Mr. Mouland hadn't 'grabbed' him – as you say." She smiled softly at Joe and then crouched down at the table next to them, speaking to Frank, "Your brother might have gotten hurt. You wouldn't have wanted that would you?"

"No!" Frank immediately answered, his eyes as large as saucers at the mere prospect of that happening.

"Well then, I think Mr. Mouland did the right thing, don't you?" she asked the children pointedly and then waited for an answer.

"Well," Frank looked at Joe again and then sighed, "when you say it like that—"

"When your Nanny says it like that—" Laura said as she sat down at the table across from her sons, "I think we owe him a thank you for keeping Joey safe and an apology for our hostility."

"It's just so tricky—" Joe sighed, speaking for the first time since the incident, "this stranger thing…."

"Yeah, it is!" Frank jumped in. The two women exchanged amused glances, surprised by the previously unseen protective streak in the older boy. "How are we supposed to know when a stranger is a good stranger or a bad stranger? We gotta thank this one – and 'pologize? How are we supposed to know?"

"I'm not saying that how Joey reacted was wrong," Laura clarified immediately, seeing the children's dilemma. "What he did was right – someone he didn't know grabbed him so he yelled for help—"

"Screamed like a baby," the five-year-old grumbled, his face flushing in obvious embarrassment. His mother smiled gently and reached across the table to grasp his cold hand.

"You did the right thing," she assured him and then continued. "It is very hard to tell whether or not someone is nice when you don't know them, but that is what Mommy, Daddy, Poppy, Nanny and Auntie Gertrude are for. We'll let you know if the stranger is a good stranger or a bad stranger and how you should act around them." She saw the children's faces fill with understanding.

"In this case the man didn't mean to scare you," Agnes added, "but the next time, it could be a bad man." She looked from one boy to the next. "So if this kind of thing ever happens again, I want you to do the same thing. Okay?"

"Okay," the boys chorused as their grandmother stood.

"Good," she said, and then moved towards the coffee pot and started putting mugs on the large serving tray. Laura moved away from the table to stand beside her.

"Gertrude's 'male friend'?" the young blond woman commented quietly to her mother-in-law, surprised when she saw a sad smile grace the older woman's face as she stopped what she was doing and nodded.

"Yeah," Agnes admitted. "He's been courting Gertie for about three years now."

"We've never heard of him before," Laura said, masking her surprise that Fenton's sister had had a boyfriend for so long and it had been kept a secret.

"No, you wouldn't have known," Agnes said and then sighed, "and neither did Francis. That's the way Gertrude wanted it…"

"Oh." Laura had no idea what else to say. Her mind was flooded with questions but she didn't feel it was her place to ask them.

Agnes suddenly looked very tired and old as she sagged against the counter and let out a heavy sigh. Her eyes roamed over the children as she spoke. They were talking quietly between themselves and not paying any attention to what the woman were saying. "Laura, have you ever wondered why Gertrude never seemed to be interested in boys? Why she never married and had children?"

"I just thought she hadn't met Mr. Right yet, to be honest," Laura admitted. Although Gertrude wasn't what anyone would call beautiful, in the traditional sense, she wasn't homely either, so the younger woman had just thought it was a case of being unlucky in love.

"Well, that might have something to do with it," Agnes conceded. She paused and for a moment Laura thought she wasn't going to say anything else. But then she did. "Gertrude _hasn't wanted_ to get involved with anyone – she feels she can't offer a man the proper chance at a loving family so she's shut herself off in self-imposed spinsterhood, instead of taking the risk of falling in love, only to be rejected in the end." The old woman snorted softly, "Until Cecil Mouland came along, that was."

"I don't think I understand," the young mother admitted and she didn't, but as Agnes continued, a horrific comprehension filled Laura…and a new understanding of her sister-in-law seared her heart.

"When Gertrude was a young girl, she was badly injured in an accident," Agnes paused and then finally admitted the secret truth about her daughter: "Laura, because of that accident, Gertie can never have children. She has no womb."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the wait – its been nuts.. But thank you for all the lovely comments. I Hope you like this chapter one too . It is a bit longer.

**The First Noel**

**Chapter 5**

It was a solemn-faced Laura that herded the two children and dog into the living room behind her mother-in-law. Agnes was carrying a serving tray of coffee, and nodded encouragingly to the boys when they glanced over their shoulders in hesitation. At her direction, they approached the stranger and quickly mumbled 'we're sorry's' and 'thank you's' before disappearing up the stairs and into their room, Sam on their heels.

Cecil smiled graciously and then chuckled at the retreating forms. "Spirited lot," he said, holding tightly to Gertrude's hand as the two sat together on the couch. Francis was sitting in his usual place, the chair by the fireplace, while Fenton had chosen to stand by the tree.

Agnes placed the tray down on the coffee table and then sat down next to her daughter as Laura moved towards her husband. Fenton's arm automatically went around her slim shoulders and he pulled her close.

"Yes they are," the older woman agreed as she bade them to have coffee.

"So," Francis said, clearing his throat, after everyone had gotten settled. He looked at Cecil, his expression guarded, "What exactly do you do for a living?"

"I'm a bingo caller," the other man said agreeably. If he was nervous under the scrutiny of Gert's family, he never showed it.

"_A bingo caller?"_ the ex-cop repeated, his face screwed up in confusion – not sure whether or not Cecil was being serious. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, sir I'm not. I've been the _Roundhouse Bingo Center's_ full time caller for the past eight years," Cecil said, a hint of pride in his voice.

"And he's the best bingo caller they've ever had, too. In fact, he's the best bingo caller in the state. It really is quite an art form you know." Gertrude gushed, her blue eyes shining brightly as she looked at her gentleman friend.

Fenton glanced at Laura, amused by his sister's display, but was surprised by the sad look he saw on his wife's face as she gazed at the older couple. He turned back towards Gertrude and Cecil, getting the distinct impression that he was missing something.

"A bingo caller," Francis muttered, shaking his head. He sighed heavily and ventured, "So you met my daughter at bingo then?"

"Oh no, not at work," Cecil refuted vehemently. "I never mix business with pleasure—" Fenton almost choked on the mouthful of coffee he had just taken, quickly recovering when his mother shot him a stern look. "We met at a funeral—"

"_A funeral?"_ Francis cut in, his voice sounding strangely strangled. "Dare I ask who died?"

"Mr. Tibbs," Gertrude said, crossing herself respectfully, "May he rest in peace." Her father looked horrified as he watched Cecil place an arm around Gert's shoulder and heard him murmuring:

"Now, now dear, it's okay…"

"_Mr. Tibbs?"_ Francis squeaked as he reached for a mug and took a mouthful of coffee.

"You remember Mr. Tibbs, Francis," Agnes put in softly, her blue eyes narrowed in silent warning. "Gertrude's cat."

"_Gertie's cat?."_ Francis sputtered and then shot his son a nasty look when Fenton was unable to stifle his snicker. He grunted in satisfaction when Laura turned and quickly 'shushed' her husband.

The retiree frowned at the younger couple. "Let me get this straight—" he scratched his chin absently as he looked at Gertrude. "You met him – _a bingo caller_ – at a funeral for Mr. Tibbs…your cat?"

"Yes" "Exactly," came the innocently chimed responses.

Francis shook his head and slumped back in his chair. "A funeral for a cat?" he muttered, thinking it was just about the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. And then as he gazed at his daughter and her 'male friend' again, he took in the protective way Cecil held her, and the way Gertrude responded – the look on her face….Francis felt a cold shiver course through his body. They were in love – it would take a fool not to notice.

Leaning back he started to chuckle. "A bingo caller…" Somehow it was perfect. Standing up, the ex-cop extended his hand to Cecil even as he glanced fondly at his daughter. "Any friend of my little girl's is a friend of mine."

And Agnes let out a breath that she didn't know she'd been holding. It would be okay….

------

"What do you want to do now?" Joe asked Frank after the boys had gone back to their room. The blond boy was sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking the top of Sam's head.

"I dunno," Frank admitted picking up the book they had left on the bed hours earlier. "We _could_ read the story like we were going to."

"We could," his brother agreed and then stifled a yawn.

The six-year-old frowned as he fingered the hard cover. "I wish we could go back outside. That was fun."

"Yeah," Joe said, lying down on his side facing the older boy. He closed his eyes. "But it's dark now…and almost suppertime. I don't think they'll let us go out again until tomorrow now."

"True—" Frank replied, looking at his brother thoughtfully, and then just asked, "why don't you ever call them Mommy and Daddy?"

"Huh?" Joe was half asleep and forced his eyes open to gaze at his brother. The afternoon's activities had worn him out.

"Mommy and Daddy – you never call them that. You say 'they' and stuff." Frank had wanted to ask the younger boy about that for a while now.

"Oh," the blond boy slowly sat up. Chewing his lip, he shrugged, "It just seems kind of strange to call them that—"

"But you call Poppy, _Poppy_," Frank argued, not understanding Joe's hesitation. "And you call me your brother."

"I – it…" the child paused and then sighed, his gaze traveling towards the dog as he leaned over to pet Sam again, purposely avoiding looking at Frank, "That just feels right."

"But Mommy and Daddy are your mommy and daddy too, now." the older boy defended his parents, shocked by how defensive he felt about this. It was suddenly very important to him that Joe recognized their parents.

"I know." Joe said, glancing up at Frank who was struck by the amount of pain he saw in those blue eyes. But still he persisted.

"If you know…then why don't you?"

"Because—" Joe's chest hitched as he finally admitted, "because I'm a-scared to, okay."

"A-scared? You mean you're afraid to?" Frank was stunned. _Why would Joe be afraid?_ He shook his head, "I don't understand."

"And you can't," Instantly Joe was off the bed, his body shaking with a hurt anger, "how can you?? You've never had anyone who's supposed to love you, leave you, have you?."

Frank stared at his brother – shocked by the outburst as Joe continued, "Well I have. _Everyone_ who is supposed to love me…leaves me – they go away. They all go away. I never met my daddy but my mommy told me he didn't love us enough so he went away – and now she – she's gone too." The blond boy paused and then blurted out, his voice choked with tears but he didn't care, "I don't want them to leave me, Frank – I don't."

Startled out of his shock by the tearful admission, Frank moved towards his upset brother and awkwardly put his arms around him. "It's okay, Joey," he said feeling the boy shaking against him, "they won't leave you. _Ever._" His heart pounded fiercely in his chest. "And I won't leave you either Joey. You're part of our family now and Hardys don't leave. You're stuck with us…for always.."

Pulling away slightly, Joey sniffled and scrubbed at his wet cheeks. He eyed Frank for another moment and then pressed, "You promise?"

"I promise," Frank nodded and then smiled, "and that's my big brother sacred promise to you…little brother."

'_Little brother…'_ Joe smiled shyly. He had never heard Frank refer to him by that affectionate term before…and he liked it.

And then he thought about Fenton and Laura. His lips pursed in consideration….Maybe, just maybe….

------

A few hours later, when Fenton and Laura tucked the boys into bed, Joe fought down the butterflies in his stomach as they walked towards the door and turned to bid them their final 'good night.'

'"Night Mommy…Daddy," Frank called out from his bed, his voice barely awake.

"Good night, Frankie."

A seconds pause and then, "Goodnight _Mommy_. Goodnight _Daddy_," Joe wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a little gasp and when his parents finally answered him, he could have sworn he heard a catch in their voices….

"G-Goodnight Joey."

But this time, it felt right.

------

Joe Rigado watched as one by one all the lights were turned off for the night. He had waited patiently in town until he saw Cecil Mouland return to his hotel room, and only then had he driven to the Hardys' farm.

Humming, he turned off the car engine, got out of the vehicle and approached the house. The crunching of the snow beneath his feet made him cringe and he slowed down when he got within earshot – not wanting to be heard.

He hoped the dog didn't set off an alarm as he approached his target – the snowman.

"Not bad, boys," he whispered as he reached out to straighten the bright orange carrot nose. And then with a quick glance around, he pulled the scarf, mittens and hat off the snowman.

Backing away as quietly as possible, he dropped the items into the snow, each one just a little further away, leaving the hat for last.

Bright red, the toque stood out in stark contrast against the snow, and the man dropped it closer to the road. Satisfied, he hurried back to the car – the lure was set.

In the morning, he would come back to the house, park on the road and wait. At some time during the morning the kids would notice the snowman's missing attire and, like a trail of bread crumbs, it would lead them close enough for JR to make his grab. And then using the fishing twine he had bought only hours earlier at the hardware store, he would restrain the child and then make his phone call.

The rest would be up to Fenton Hardy. If he loved the boy he would pay to get him back….If not….

"Well, if not," Rigado chuckled as he drove, "he can at least pay for the funeral…"

Laura Hardy snuggled against her husband, a contented little smile on her face. Hearing Joe call her 'mommy' had lit up her spirit and she knew her husband felt the same.

"I wonder why now," she heard Fenton murmur, his words tickling the top of her head. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her cheek and it made her feel very loved.

"'Why now' what?" Laura questioned softly, running her fingers along the soft skin of his muscular chest.

"Joey. Why'd he chose tonight to call us—" Fenton hesitated, clearing his throat but the pretty blond smiled; he was choked up by that simple recognition.

"Why'd he choose tonight to call you 'daddy'?" she finished for him.

"Yeah. Exactly," She shivered as she felt Fenton's fingers running absently through her hair.

"I don't know," Laura admitted and then sighed in utter contentment, "but I'm glad he did…I never realized just how much I wanted to hear him call me that until I actually heard it. _Mommy…_"

"Me neither," the investigator admitted, "It's kind of weird though…I sorta feel like I did the first time Frankie called me 'dadda,' and that I should be calling someone or something."

Laura laughed and raised her head to look into the chocolate-brown eyes she loved so much. "Well…you could wake your parents up—"

"Perish the thought." Fenton immediately cut her off with a laugh. "My dad is a bear if he doesn't get his full eight hours." He then remembered there was something else he wanted to ask her. "Laura?"

"Hmmm?" she answered as she laid her head back down against his warm chest and closed her eyes.

"Tonight. When Cecil was still here – I got the feeling I was missing something….You looked so sad…" His voice trailed off, leaving an opening for her to say something.

Laura bit her lip as she looked ahead in the darkness. _Was it her place to tell Fenton about his sister? Did he already know?_ And then she sighed – in all the time she had known her husband they had never kept secrets – not that she knew of anyway.

"I suppose I was," she admitted after a long moment, "I was just reflecting on something your mother told me…and it made me realize that we might never truly know the people we love…"

Fenton's fingers paused in her hair as he thought about that. He pressed, "Meaning?"

"Meaning—" Laura took a breath and then said softly, "the fact that your sister dates a bingo caller named Cecil…has funerals for cats…and…and can never have children…"

As his wife's words sunk in, Fenton felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. "What?"

"Apparently when Gertrude was younger she was involved in a serious accident that left her unable to have children," Laura explained gently. "That's why she never married – I guess she was afraid of being hurt if it ever became an issue…"

Fenton started to stroke her soft hair again, his eyes glazed over in shock as he took a few moments to digest what he'd just been told. It made so much sense and he kicked himself for not realizing sooner – as impossible as that would have been.

And then something clicked…

"Oh God," the sleuth said quietly, "I think I remember something about that." He knew his wife was listening intently as he continued. "I wasn't very old – around the boys' ages I think – but I do remember Gert being sick for a long time….I wasn't allowed to see her – she was in the hospital and when she did come home, I had to be very careful around her…" he paused and then added, "she always seemed so – I dunno know – sad… but then one day she was better and I never thought about it after that." Fenton frowned as he chastised himself, "How insensitive is that? I don't even know what happened. Just what kind of brother am I?"

Laura reached up and touched his face, making him look her. "You were a child, Fenton – don't be so hard on yourself….And you didn't know because your family didn't want you to know."

"But Mom told you—" Fenton's eyes looked black in the dim lighting as he looked at Laura – there was no accusation in his voice, just honesty. But before his wife could answer, he continued, "And I'm glad she did. She would have never told you if she didn't want me to know…" He sighed, "I wish we were closer though – me and Gertrude – then maybe I could have done something to help."

"I don't know what you could have done," Laura told him and then a small smile graced her lips, "But I think you have helped…Gertrude can't have children but you've given her the next best things – nephews. You know she's always doted on Frankie, and she's certainly taken to Joey….You can just see it in her eyes when she looks at them, Fenton – when she plays with them…she sees them as gifts….Gifts from you." Leaning up, she gave him a soft peck on the cheek and whispered, "You are a damn fine brother, Fenton Hardy, and don't you ever forget that."

Blushing under his wife's vehement convictions, Fenton wrapped his arms around Laura and held her. He knew she was right – about everything…and then he frowned; in the morning he and his father were going to drop by the local police station to see what they could find out about this Joe Rigato…

'_If you think you're going to take any of this away from me,_' the detective vowed as he heard his wife's breathing even out and knew she was sleeping, _'you have another think coming, mister…'_

------

Contrary to every other morning, this time it was Frank who woke up first. Glancing across at the blond-headed sleeper, he grinned.

Bright sunlight shone in through the room forecasting a beautiful day, and there was a snowman waiting outside, just begging to have a snow family. Better yet, they could build a snow castle…no, a fort..

"Joey?" he whispered, giving the younger boy a gentle shake, "get up."

"Wha'sa matta?" came a mumbled reply as heavy eyelids were forced back to reveal sleepy blue eyes.

"It's morning," Frank said, sitting up eagerly, "and it's nice outside. I just bet Mommy and Daddy will let us outside again – we can build a snow fort this time."

Instantly, Joe was wide awake and just as excited. "Wow. A snow fort. I've never had a snow fort. I've never made one either." And then he frowned, "Um…actually I don't even know how to make one—"

"Well I do." Frank cried out, already out of bed and rummaging through the dresser for clean clothes, "So come on. I'll show you – it'll be fun."

"Can we eat first?" Joe asked as he followed suit, albeit at a slower pace, as he rubbed the last of the sleep out of his eyes.

"Probably," the older boy declared, "Snow fort builders need lots of energy and Mommy says good food gives us energy."

"Oh," Joe nodded agreeably and patted his empty stomach. "In that case I think I'll eat extra."

"Good idea." Frank declared and then led the way downstairs, only to be shooed back up to wash their faces and brush their hair before they could eat. And as he had predicted, the brothers were told they could play outside as long as they dressed warmly and stayed close to the house.

Promising angelically, the children were bundles of eagerness, barely tolerating the help Gertrude and Laura offered them with their snowsuits before they were out the door and down the front steps.

Fenton shook his head and laughed. "I don't think I was ever that bad." he commented. His father snorted as he grabbed his truck keys and a warm hat:

"You're right. You were worse."

"Dad." the young detective protested before following his father outside. He turned to his wife, "This shouldn't take too long," he promised.

"Okay," Laura smiled, wrapping her arms around her slender body as she stood in the doorway. The day might be sunny but it seemed exceptionally cold. "Drive carefully. We'll keep an eye on the boys."

Sam followed Francis towards the truck, torn between going with his master as he would usually do, or staying with the children. But one short whistle from the man ended the debate and the golden retriever hopped into the truck and took his rightful place…on the front passenger seat.

"I don't think so," Fenton chuckled, attempting to move the large dog, but Sam wouldn't budge. "Hey fur-face, outta my spot." Still the dog wouldn't move. Finally in exasperation, the young man turned to his father and held open in his hands in appeal, "A little help here might be appreciated."

"Why?" Francis laughed, "It is _his_ seat." And then he gave the dog a wink and Sam obligingly moved to the back.

"Thanks," Fenton grumbled, making a show of brushing hair off the seat before sitting down. His father didn't say anything but he didn't have to – the look he was giving his son was more than enough.

"You ready?" the retiree finally said, his face breaking out in a wide grin, "or should I get the seat reupholstered first?"

"Just drive," Fenton growled, and then waved to the two little boys who ran towards the driveway to see them off. "Be good." he called out to them rolling down the window, "And listen to your mom."

"We will." and "Bye, Poppy and Daddy." chorused after them as the men pulled away from the house and headed towards town….

"Hey." Frank exclaimed as they turned away from the driveway, their Poppy's truck no longer in sight. "Our snowman is naked."

"What?" Joe whirled around, his blue eyes widening in surprise as he looked at their white creation. His brother was right – all the clothes were missing.

"Man," the older boy grumbled, stalking through the snow towards a mitten he saw on the ground, "it must have gotten windy last night."

"Yeah," Joe agreed, following. He glanced across at the snowman. "It's a wonder his nose stayed on."

As Frank bent down to pick up the mitten he saw the other one a couple of feet away. "Joey – the other one's over there." he pointed with his finger and the younger boy immediately moved to retrieve it.

As the children moved to collect the fiendishly strewn items, cold, dark eyes watched them in anticipation…

"Just a little closer," JR whispered, his heart pounding with excitement. "Come on boys…just a little further…"

And then Frank saw the bright red hat.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks for the lovely comments – here is more!

**The First Noel**

**Chapter 6**

"How'd his hat get so far away from the rest of this stuff?" Frank grumbled as he bent over to pick the red toque up; suddenly he stiffened as a shadow fell over him; he looked up to see the stranger his father had warned him about! "RUN!" He yelled to Joe as he turned around as quickly as he could and tried to make his escape but he wasn't fast enough! Rigado grabbed his arm.

"Hey!" Joe yelled as he ran towards his brother and kicked the man in the leg with his snow boot, "You let go of my brother!"

Immediately the man did so – and grabbed Joe in his place.

"Sure, brat," he growled; his dark eyes predatory. "It's you I'm after anyway."

"Let me go!" Panicked, Joe tried to twist away but the stranger held his arm in a painful grip, shoving Frank into the snow when he tried to free the younger boy.

"MOMMY!" Frank screeched as the man started to haul a frantic Joe towards the road where a silver car was parked. "HELP! NANNY! AUNTIE! _HELP!"_

------

Laura Hardy closed the front door and turned to go into the kitchen. Like the two other woman, she knew where Fenton and Francis were going and why. She hoped they would find something they could use because, as selfish as it might seem, she didn't want to lose her new son to anyone, even his real father.

"I'm sure it will be all right," Agnes offered when the younger woman sat down at the kitchen table for one final cup of tea before officially starting the day. "Francis and Fenton will find what they are looking for, you'll see. There'll be nothing to worry about."

"I know," Laura said with a sigh, "but it's still worrisome—" Her pale blue eyes held her mother-in-law's gaze. "We just got him, you know…I don't want to lose him."

Agnes reached across and squeezed the younger woman's hand encouragingly. "Drink up your tea. It'll make you feel better."

"I thought you preferred coffee," Laura commented absently even as she did take a mouthful of the brew.

"I do," the older woman admitted, "but for some reason I have always found more comfort in a good cup of tea." She started to say something else when a bitter screech pierced the air.

Laura flew to her feet, recognizing her child's voice. "That's Frankie!" she cried, already moving towards the front door. Agnes and Gertrude were right behind her.

------

"NO!" Frank yelled as he hurled himself at Rigado; his mitten-clad fists flying against the man's back. "You let my brother go!"

As the man turned to deal with his little assailant, his hold slackened on Joe's arm briefly...but that was all the child needed. Pulling away, Joe ran towards his brother and the two boys stumbled through the snow as quickly as they could go.

"GET BACK HERE!" Rigado bellowed, struggling after them; his way impeded by the deep snow as he sunk down more deeply than the lighter children.

"HELP!" Frank yelled again as he followed Joe towards the house. Suddenly there was a loud splintering noise and the blond boy just disappeared from sight; swallowed up by the frigid ground.

"JOEY!" Forgetting his pursuer, Frank dropped to his knees next to where his brother disappeared and felt his heart just about rip out of his throat as he heard Joe's scream and then – then nothing.

------

"Ohmygod!" Laura yelled as she saw the burly stranger chasing her sons, and then watched in horror as Joe just disappeared. "Call the police." she instructed as she hurried out of the house and into the snow; her slipper-clad feet slipping in her haste. Behind her Agnes raced for the phone as Gertrude continued out of the house after Laura.

"LEAVE MY SONS ALONE!" the petite blond woman yelled but she was still too far away to do anything to help.

------

"JOEY!" Frank yelled again, "ARE YOU OKAY?" Nothing. There was no sound from his brother whatsoever, but before the child could do anything else, he was grabbed again by Rigado and hauled to his feet! Struggling wildly, the little boy was no match for the man who carried him towards the car…

"NO!" he growled as he fought, and then something foul-smelling was shoved in front of his face. He tried to twist away but couldn't…the world swam sickeningly and then there was nothing.

------

"NO!" Laura screeched as she watched the burly man toss her unconscious son into the back of his car, "NOT MY SON! OH GOD, SOMEONE STOP HIM! HE'S GOT MY SON!" Slipping and sliding – oblivious to the cold – the frantic mother hurried towards the road, but it was no use…she couldn't get there fast enough and had to watch in horror as the silver car sped away from the house.

"No," she sobbed sinking down in the snow, "oh please…no…" And then she remembered Joe.

"Gertrude," she gasped, staggering back to her feet; she looked at her sister-in-law as Gertrude caught up to her. "Joey – we gotta find Joey."

Nodding her understanding, the older woman – just as winded as Laura – turned around and hurried towards the place they had seen him disappear.

"An old well—" she managed, dropping to her knees as Laura fell next to her, "he's down an old well." She cupped her hand over her mouth and leaned as close to the opening as she dared. "JOEY? Are you okay?"

The women listened anxiously but heard nothing. Laura tried.

"JOEY? _BABY?_ It's Mommy – can you hear me?"

Again they listened and this time they were rewarded by a sound; a heartbreaking little whimper that barely carried to their ears.

"He's hurt." Laura gasped; her pale blue eyes frantically searching her sister-in-law's face as the normally self-composed young mother was on the verge of panicking – a madman had stolen one of her sons and the other was lying hurt somewhere beneath them. "What do I do, Gertrude? What do I do?"

"First things first—" Shoving her own anxiety to the back of her mind, Gertrude took over. "I need to tell Mom that man took Frank—"

"Oh God, yes." Laura's heart leapt into her throat – _how could she do this? How could she have ever thought that she'd be able to divide her attention between __two__ children? Especially when they both needed her help?_ Swallowing back her panic, she forced herself to focus on what the older woman was saying. She _could_ do this – she had to.

"You stay with Joey. Talk to him and let him know he's not alone, I'll be right back," without waiting for a response, Gertrude was on her feet and made her way back to the house as quickly as she could, her feet slipping with every other step.

------

Joe Rigado smiled as he drove. This hadn't worked out exactly as he had planned but in the long run he figured it had worked out even better. While there was no 100% guarantee that Fenton would pay a ransom on his adopted son, he sure as hell would for his real son.

In the backseat, six-year-old Frank Hardy was oblivious to it all.

------

"Mom!" Gertrude cried as she raced into the house. Agnes was in the kitchen just hanging up the phone, "Call the police and an ambulance. That horrid man's taken Frankie and Joey's fallen into an old well."

The old woman just stared at her in total disbelief. "A _well_?" and then as comprehension filled her face, she grabbed the phone again. "I've already called the police," she told her daughter, her hands shaking as she re-dialed 9-1-1, "Where's Frankie and Laura?"

"That man just put him in a silver car and took off – towards town. Laura's outside with Joey."

"Grab her coat," Agnes looked at her daughter, "and your own, some blankets and get back out there – I'll call the fire department and your father as well—" She turned her attention to the phone as Gertrude hurried from the kitchen.

------

Cecil Mouland frowned as he saw the very distraught figure of Laura Hardy kneeling down in the snow close to where the property met the road. Quickly parking his car, he hurried towards her.

"Laura? Are you all right?" He glanced towards the big house wondering where every one else was. They should be here. Gertrude had not mentioned going anywhere this morning.

The pale-faced woman looked up at him through red-rimmed, swollen eyes. She was shaking and he doubted it was from the cold alone. Taking off his jacket he draped it over her thin frame and crouched down next to her, noticing a gaping hole for the first time.

"J-Joey—" the distressed woman managed, indicating the opening, "he – he's down there."

Cecil's eyes widened in shock. "Oh no," he whispered, leaning forward towards the hole slightly before looking around. "Where's Frankie? Is he down there too?"

"No," the woman managed, "he's been taken."

Before the man could ask anything else he heard someone cry out his name, and looked towards the house to see Gertrude rushing towards them, her arms laden down with blankets and coats, a pair of oversized snowboots flopping on her feet. Immediately Cecil hurried to help her.

"Oh thank God!" Gertrude gushed in genuine relief and then quickly explained to her 'male friend' what had happened. Cecil just stared at her in horror, his throat tightening as he heard Laura's heart-wrenching words of comfort to the child lying beneath them; and then he saw a little blue mitten lying in the white snow near where the earth had given away. It had come off when the boy fell.

_It – it's okay, Joey…baby…Mommy is r-right here…_

From the hole, they heard nothing.

Stooping down to pick up the mitten, he shivered. It was still warm…

------

"So what do you think of this Cecil character?" Fenton asked his father as they drove.

"Doesn't matter what I think," admitted the older man, "Only matters what Gertie thinks, and she thinks he's the cats _me-ow._" He laughed. "A funeral for a cat – I've heard of everything now."

"Yeah but what if he's using her—" the detective demanded, his mind suspicious about the mild-mannered bingo caller, "for something…or something."

"_Using her for something…or something_?" his father frowned. "For something what? I don't think I'm following you, son."

Fenton snorted, "Oh I think you can follow me just fine, so put away that kindly old harmless drooling-on-himself senior persona. I know the real Dick Tracy/John Wayne 'kill-em-all let God sort them out' you."

"I prefer Sean Connery actually, if you must know…and it's kill them all AND let God sort them out." Francis corrected and then shrugged as he drove. "I think Cecil is exactly what he professes to be. _And_ I think he's perfect for Gertrude…can't explain it, son, but I feel the same way towards him as I did towards Laura when you first brought her home." He paused and then shot Fenton an odd look. "Actually, come to think of it, I recall having a very similar conversation with Gertrude about you and Laura….She was very concerned about the potential corruption of her little brother." He winked, "Boy, was she ever right. I mean, Laura Scott has plain ruined you."

"Dad—"

"No, I'm being serious, son. Gertrude deserves to be happy and from what I saw last night, this man makes her happy. So I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and trust her instincts on this. I'd recommend that you do the same thing," the ex-cop advised as he carefully navigated the slick roads.

"I'll try," Fenton offered, though his words didn't sound convincing to either of them.

"You'd better do better than just try, Junior," Francis warned, "because your mother likes Cecil too."

"Oh brother." Defeated, the young sleuth sat back heavily in his seat and ran a hand across his face. He sighed, "Gertrude Mouland…I guess it does have a ring…"

Francis snorted loudly. "Don't get carried away, Fenton. I said 'try'…not marry them."

Francis and Fenton drove for a few minutes in silence before the younger man changed the subject, voicing what had been preying on his mind since the previous day. "I hope we find something – I'm just not sure what I hope we actually find."

The senior Hardy snorted softy. "Care to explain?"

"Well," Fenton started, "Do I want this guy to be Joey's father or not? I mean for Joey – and assuming this guy isn't the complete jackass that he's come off as being so far – that would be pretty exciting…his real dad. He would finally get some closure or connection to his past—" he paused. Francis glanced at him. "But at the same time, I don't want this creep to be anyone related to him at all. Call me selfish if you want, but he's my son now, damnit, and I don't want to share him with anyone else – real father or not."

Francis chuckled and shook his head.

"What?" Fenton asked, his voice holding a note of indignation.

"Nothing son—" the ex-cop grinned, "I'm just so proud of you right now I think I could just about burst." Confused, the younger man frowned, and his father continued, "Fenton. Not only did you open your home, but you also opened your heart to that young ragamuffin – truly and fully….That's not something just anyone can do. There are too many narrow-minded pinheads out there who think family is defined by blood line. Well DNA has _nothing_ to do with it. You know yourself, some of the worst crooks ever, have come from fine, upstanding families. And to hear you hoping this guy is not Joey's dad just because you love him…well son, that just makes me damn proud."

Fenton blushed but before he could say anything his father's cell phone rang, and he watched in amusement as the older man fumbled with getting his phone out and opening it as he drove.

"So much for pulling over to talk, huh?" he managed, and grinned at the dirty look his father shot him even as he answered.

"Frank Hardy," Francis barked into the phone. "Agnes? What? Slow down honey, I can't—" Fenton could hear his mother's excited voice through the receiver and his heart pounded as he made out the words 'the boys' and 'police'.

'_Oh God, something's happened!'_

------

It was dark – that was the first thing the little boy noticed as he regained consciousness. It was dark…and one of his mittens was missing.

The child had passed out, briefly, when he'd hit the bottom of the old farm well, and a surge of panic was quickly replaced by an intense and burning pain that seemed to knife right though his body.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Joe gasped, letting out an involuntary whimper when he tried to move and almost blacked out again. He was terrified, cold…and alone.

From what seemed far away he could hear something – voices? A voice, but the child was hurting too much to comprehend what was being said…yelled? Cried.

'_Help me'_, his mind screamed, but the words left his lips as a whisper of agony. Forcing his eyes open, Joe slowly focused on the voice until he could place it. It was his mommy – she was here…he wasn't alone…

'_Frankie',_ he suddenly thought, shivering and groaning again as he dully remembered what had happened – the chase and then falling… _'Where's Frankie?'_ His heart pounded painfully in his chest and each beat sent a fresh wave of pain searing through his side, stabbing at him. His hand shaking from more than the cold, the boy touched his side and then let out another involuntary gasp as he felt something wet and warm through his snowsuit…blood. He was bleeding.

"M-Mom…my…" he whispered with difficulty, "help…me…"

But his words were too feeble to be heard.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

I am soooo sorry for the delay! It has been hectic. Thank you everyone for your lovely comments and I hope you continue to enjoy the story. And see, I can put Frank in peril too :P

**The First Noel**

**Chapter 7**

Fenton Hardy was in shock – how could so much have gone so wrong in such a short time? Rigado had taken Frank _and_ Joe had fallen down _a well_? The young man shook his head wondering if he was trapped in some bizarre dream.

"Damn it!" he heard his father curse as they raced back towards the house, "I covered over that hole – I know I did."

"The well?" Fenton ventured, his mind distracted by the separate perils his boys were in. They had to rescue Joe _and_ find Frank before it was too late for either them…he just had no idea yet how he was going to do that! _Was Joe hurt? What was happening to Frank? __Where__ was Frank?_ At least he knew where Joe was. He shivered as he envisioned the little boy at the bottom of the dark, dank well…the knowing was really not much comfort.

"Yes the well, damn it," Francis cussed again, his anger directed at himself and not his son's question. "It was the water well for the original farmhouse, which was built closer to the road than the house is now," the old man explained, rambling in agitation as he did so. "Apparently at one time, the farm extended onto the other side of the road, being sold off in smaller parcels over the past thirty years. I think it was originally a dairy farm – land's not much good for much else, to be honest….The well is dry, that's the good thing, but it's deep, and I know I boarded it up! I know I did." He slapped the steering wheel in frustration.

The young detective didn't say anything, too consumed with worry to try and console his father. Whether or not the hole had been covered was a moot point at this time anyway – a child had fallen into it and that was the bottom line. Fenton's child…

Somewhere ahead of them they heard sirens, and Fenton's gut clenched, the sound making this all the more real to him…his little boys needed him!

------

Rigado had a plan. It was a good plan – not his original one, but a good one nonetheless. However his plan changed again the moment he passed a Suburban and recognized the driver and passenger – it was Hardy and his father.

"Damnit," he growled, flooring the accelerator as the other vehicle slammed on its brakes and quickly swung around 180 degrees in pursuit.

------

"IT'S RIGADO!" Fenton yelled when they got close enough to an oncoming silver car and he made out the dark-haired man at the wheel. He and his father traded a glance. Fenton closed his eyes, swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat and nodded – instantly Francis was slamming on the brakes and yanking on the steering wheel. They had no choice…if they didn't chase the kidnapper now they might never find Frank. Fenton glanced over his shoulder as they sped away from the farmhouse – he'd have to trust the rest of his family to take care of Joe. He took some comfort in the glimpse of flashing lights he saw behind them….

------

The silver car shot like a bullet over the snow-slick roads, fishtailing wildly around a couple of tight turns; the unconscious child in the back sat was oblivious, and slid to the floor after a particularly sharp recovery by Rigado.

Behind them the larger vehicle closed the distance but didn't try to overtake them – it was too dangerous, so for Frank's sake it held back and continued to follow. At some point the car would run out of gas – hopefully before Francis's vehicle did.

"We'll wear him down," the ex-cop muttered to his son, his dark eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead of them. Beside him Fenton nodded, his eyes glued to the sedan with enough intensity to almost see the little boy inside.

"Hold on Frankie," the worried father whispered, "Daddy's right behind you…"

------

Rigado saw the police barricade set up on the other side of Richmond Bridge. Behind him, the Suburban blocked any hopes he had of escape.

Growling, he gritted his teeth and made a quick decision. "You brought this on yourself, Hardy—" he yelled as the car hit the bridge deck at a terrifying speed, and then without any hesitation Rigado turned the wheels and drove right off the bridge!

The car seemed to be suspended in midair for a brief moment and then it plummeted straight down, nose first.

------

"NOOOOOOOO!" yelled a horrified Fenton; he and Francis could do nothing but watch as the silver car barreled through the feeble bridge railings and over the side, hitting the frigid water with a sickening splash.

Francis slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop in the middle of the bridge; Fenton was out and racing towards the side before the vehicle even stopped rocking.

"FRANKIE!" the detective screamed, "FRANKIE!" He could see the car slowly sinking, and without even a second thought dived off the bridge and into the water, strong strokes taking him towards the sinking car.

Above him he heard the shouts of his father and the police but he ignored them. His son was down there – no one was going to stop him from saving Frank.

Adrenaline fueling his body, Fenton never even noticed how cold the water was….

------

The shock of frigid coldness tore the child from unconsciousness as water washed over his body. Forcing his eyes open, Frank's confusion was replaced with horror as he realized he was in the back of a strange car and the car was sinking.

"_FRANKIE…"_

The little boy heard his name being screamed even as he scrambled up off the floor and onto the seat – it was his father! His Daddy was here!

But then the stranger calmly turned around from the front seat and captured the child's terrified gaze in his own – he was holding a gun, and with a cruel smile, he aimed it directly at Frank.

"Looks like Daddy is going to be just in time—" his smile broadened, "to watch you die." And then as Fenton finally gained the side of the car, Rigado glanced at him – laughed – and pulled the trigger.

------

Showered suddenly with shattered glass, Frank screamed and then slumped down in the seat. Through blurring vision, he saw his father reaching for him…

"Daddy," he whispered and then closed his eyes.

------

Time slowed down as a horrified Fenton watched JR squeeze the trigger and knew there was nothing he could do to stop him – he was about to watch his son murdered right in front of his eyes. And then the sound of a shot and shattering glass; the kidnapper slumped down in his seat, holding his arm and cursing profanely as blood seeped through his fingers.

Whirling around, Fenton saw a police officer standing next to his father on the bridge deck and as he looked, the cop lowered his gun….Wasting no time, the young detective yanked the car door open and reached for his son.

"It's okay, Frankie…you're okay."

The child felt his father's arms around him but didn't open his eyes. He trembled, cold and in shock, not understanding what had happened; he should be dead. The stranger had pointed the gun at him and – slowly he opened his eyes and glanced around – and the police had shot the stranger.

"FENTON! HOLD ON!" Frank heard his grandfather's voice as his father held him tight and slowly waded towards the bank. He started to shiver violently, his teeth chattering as hot tears burned his cheeks and he just felt sick…and then without any warning, he was.

------

"Gertrude," Cecil barked, wasting no time, "Get the climbing rope out of the trunk—" He tossed his keys to the woman and knelt down next to the hole again, appraising the dark dirt sides. He glanced across at the distraught young mother and then nodded. Standing back up, he hurried across to help Gertrude with the rope.

Within moments, they were back and Cecil grabbed one of the blankets and passed it to the older woman, who draped it around her neck.

"What's going on?" Laura asked, watching the older couple as her sister-in-law hastily put on a pair of leather climbing gloves.

"I'm going to need your help," Cecil told her, "we're going to anchor Gertie. She's going down the hole after Joey—"

"What?" The pretty blond was stunned and she looked from one to the other;_ were they crazy? Was Gertrude actually about to rappel down into the well? Who was this woman and what had she done with the 'real' Gertrude Hardy?_

Gertrude's gaze softened as she reached across and touched Laura's arm. "It's okay, Laura. We've done this before."

"Huh?" Laura hadn't thought she could be anymore stunned, but she was.

"Yes, Cecil and I have been active members of a local climbers' club for the past two years." The older woman looked fondly at her male friend; Cecil winked and then tied the rope to his waist, giving it a few good tugs for good measure.

"I d-don't know about this," Laura stammered even as she stood up and took hold of the rope.

"It'll be okay," Cecil reassured her and then added, "I'm stronger than I look." As if to prove it, he dug his feet into the snow and took a steady grip on the rope. Nodding to Gertrude, he instructed, "Nice and easy, all the way….The dirt's packed hard but a good nudge and you might start trouble."

With a brief nod, Gert adjusted her hold on the rope, took a deep breath and cautiously stepped over the side.

------

Agnes hurried through the snow towards them, her hand flying over her mouth as she saw her daughter disappear over the edge and into the hole.

"Gertrude!" she cried out and then raced to help Cecil and Laura on the rope. "That girl is going to break her neck and that won't help anyone."

"_That girl_ is one of the most natural rappelers I've ever seen," Cecil gritted out as he fought the weight on the end of the rope.

"She couldn't have waited for the fire department?" Agnes fretted, and then looking at the pale, tear-streaked face of her daughter-in-law and thinking of the small boy at the bottom of the well, she sighed, "No, of course not. I just hope she knows what she's doing."

"She does," Cecil assured the women, "Gertie does."

------

Gertrude wrinkled up her nose at the musty dank smell of the dirt. Some people liked its earthy aroma. Not her, and definitely not like _this_. The well felt like a tomb, and she shivered as she slowly lowered herself down the rope.

"Joey? It's okay…it's just Auntie Gert, I'm going to be there in just one moment, okay – so you hang in there." Her voice sounded eerily muffled by the well and she swallowed hard, forcing a calmness into her words that she didn't feel. Many people didn't know this, but Gertrude Hardy suffered from claustrophobia. So concentrating on her trapped nephew, she forced herself down each precious inch of rope. "Almost there, Joey, just a little bit more. Oooh, if your father could see me now," she muttered nervously, "I'd never hear the end of it." She snorted softly as she glanced down to estimate how much further she had to go. "Hmpf, I bet he'd never have thought his big sister would have this in her. No sirree…not prim and proper Gertrude Maybelle Hardy….Ooooh, if he only knew the half of it!"

It was amazing how dark it was down there, and she wished she had a light, but in her haste to get to the child, a light hadn't been thought of…. And then – finally – her feet touched the rocky ground and she let go of the rope. Turning carefully, she heard heavy breathing and zeroed in on the injured boy.

"Oh Joey," she whispered, crouching down in the confined space and slipping the blanket off her shoulders. "You're going to be just fine…"

------

Joey opened his eyes slightly and saw a shadow hovering over him. He started slightly before recognizing the voice – it was his Aunt Gertrude. '_This is an odd place for her to be,'_ he thought absently, groaning softly when the warm blanket was gently placed over him. The little boy wanted to ask about Frank and to tell her how much his side hurt, but he couldn't. Instead he closed his eyes again and felt her fingers against his cheek, stroking lightly, and listened to her murmured words of encouragement. He was so tired – even the cold and pain seemed very far away now.

------

Gertrude didn't like how unresponsive the child was. It hadn't been that long since Joe had fallen and he shouldn't have been this subdued. Crouching beside him, she glanced up at the hole and frowned. The original idea of her holding onto the little boy as Cecil and Laura pulled them up, wasn't going to work, but before she had a chance to think up an alternative, she heard the welcome sound of sirens and let out a heavy sigh – help had arrived.

------

Laura stood next to her mother-in-law, her pale blue eyes darting frequently from the well opening to the rescuers who were working feverishly to get her son out of it. Beside her, Agnes, Cecil and Gertrude waited just as anxiously. Just when the young mother didn't think she could stand another moment of anticipation, she saw a burst of activity around the opening and then Joe was finally lifted out.

Quickly the paramedic carrying the child placed the little boy on a stretcher and Laura rushed to his side.

"Oh baby," she whispered, her voice trembling as she took in the pale, dirt-streaked face of the child. And then she gasped as she saw his blood-soaked snowsuit…but before she could see anything else, the paramedics were moving the stretcher through the snow and towards the ambulance.

"Come on, Laura," Agnes said softly, from the younger woman's side, "we can follow them. Joey'll be okay – you'll see."

"I'll drive," Cecil added.

Numbly, Laura let herself be led towards Cecil's car, and as he pulled away, she laid her head against her mother-in-law's shoulder and closed her eyes. She hadn't heard any word from Fenton yet about Frank and could only pray that this would all work out…somehow.

'_Please God, let my babies be okay,'_ she prayed, '_please…'_

------

Fenton and Francis were on their feet the instant Joe was wheeled through the ER. The paramedics didn't even pause, just rushed the stretcher through, giving the men only a quick glimpse of the unconscious child.

Frank was still in another room being assessed – having been taken to the hospital to make sure he was okay – and a frantic Fenton had been trying to reach Laura since they had arrived for any word on Joe.

"Dad—" Fenton turned to his father, his face as white as a sheet, "Did you see – was there—" His voice trailed off, his legs suddenly not strong enough to hold him. He sat down heavily in the plastic ER waiting room chair. He held his father's equally horrified gaze, "was there a – a…_piece of wood_…sticking out of my son?"

The older man sat down beside him and placed a steadying arm around his shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. His voice was husky but quiet, "You need to be strong, son. Joey's at the hospital – Laura will soon be here…you need to be strong—" He paused and then added, "and yes…yes, there was…"

Tbc


	8. Chapter 8

Here is the next one. Thank you to everyone who has commented. The story is finally starting to wind down

**The First Noel**

**Chapter 8**

Francis Hardy leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair and sighed. Impatient at the best of times, the retiree hated waiting. Particularly when it involved the welfare of somebody he cared about – or in this case, two somebodys.

The hospital was still festively decorated, a startling reminder that Christmas had only been a few short days ago, and a new year was only hours away…about thirty-six, the old man quickly reckoned, smothering any thoughts of festivity with the faces of two small children…

'_Hang in there, boys,_' he silently implored, _'Hardys are tougher than this!'_

Next to him, his wife quietly flipped through one of the magazines the hospital so thoughtfully supplied the waiting room with; though the ex-cop knew Agnes wasn't reading. She just kept staring at the print on the pages until a reasonable amount of time passed, and then she would turn the page. He slid an arm around her back and she gave him a brief smile before glancing down at her watch and then back at the magazine.

Sitting right across from them were Gertrude and Cecil – heroes in Francis's figuring. He was still in shock at hearing that his baby girl had slid down a rope and into the well after the child, and he looked at them with new respect even as he wondered what else there was about his oldest child that he was still to learn.

The sound of someone moving made Francis glance to his left in time to see Fenton get up and start to pace again, and his heart went out to his son. The younger man was dressed in oversized clothes, having changed into the only dry ones available when they finally reached the hospital – the spare set Francis still kept in the truck; a habit he had from his days on the force. But the young sleuth was too keyed up to worry about fashion, and alternated between comforting Laura and pacing.

Francis repressed a shiver, wondering if he'd ever get over the terror of seeing his son jump off that bridge – there had been no choice, but still, for one suspended instant, the older man had been sure he was about to watch his son perish…and his grandson….Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he turned towards his daughter-in-law.

Laura was sitting quietly beside Agnes. Her eyes were closed and her face pale. Francis could see her lips moving but heard no sound – praying, he figured, as he closed his own eyes and, not for the first time this day, offered up a quick one himself. _'Dear Father in heaven…'_

After a few minutes of pacing, Fenton returned to sit with Laura, pulling her close and murmuring words Francis couldn't hear. A small smile graced the young woman's face and the ex-cop was almost overwhelmed with a burst of pride that his oft-times irrepressible son could still help his wife find her smile – however brief – at a time like this…. '_Now that's a gift_,' the older man thought and then turned sharply when quick footsteps down the hallway heralded a young woman in a long white coat – the doctor.

------

Stopping momentarily, the woman looked around the waiting room and then hurried towards the small group that turned to her expectantly. There was no one else here right now so this had to be the family.

"Are you the family of the two little boys brought in earlier?" She already knew the children were brothers – it was a very small hospital.

"Yes—" A handsome dark-haired young man was out of his seat in an instant, a pretty blond woman at his side.

"We're their mother and father. Fenton and Laura Hardy," the young woman added in breathless anxiety. They were quickly surrounded by the extended members of their family, the oldest man placing a supportive hand on the shoulders of the young couple, and the young doctor felt a surprising amount of compassion for this family. It was very obvious that they were close.

"I'm Dr. Beckman," the woman introduced and then gestured towards the empty chairs. "Let's sit down and I'll update you as best I can on your sons' conditions."

Immediately everyone was seated and turned expectant faces towards her. She could read the apprehension and gave them a reassuring smile. "First let me tell you Frankie is doing very well." She heard the relieved sighs and her smile broadened briefly. "The dose of chloroform he was given did make him sick but we've given him some Gravol and he's feeling much better now. He's sleeping off the effects and will probably be very groggy and miserable-feeling for the rest of the day…. We do want to keep an eye on him for a couple more hours to make sure there are no latent effects of the drugging or adverse reactions to the medication, and then you can take him home….Keep him quiet for the next twenty-four hours or so and don't worry if he doesn't feel like eating very much in the next day or two."

"Oh thank goodness," Laura said in expressed relief when the doctor finished – Frank was going to be okay. Her husband nodded his agreement and then pressed anxiously:

"What about our other son, Joey?"

Dr. Beckman bit her lip for a moment and her face lost the trace of smile as she gave them a sympathetic look. "Unfortunately, his condition is a bit more serious." She paused to give the family time to prepare for whatever she was going to say. "Right now Joey is still in surgery. When he fell into the well, a large splinter of wood pierced his right side, causing considerable damage and blood loss…now the splinter has been removed, but as I said there is a lot of damage and it's going to be a while before he's out of surgery—"

"What kind of damage?" Francis demanded, wanting to know exactly what his little grandson was up against.

"Other than expected muscle and ligament damage from the actual piercing, the splinter ruptured a large section of the child's ascending colon—" the woman explained, "passing, luckily enough, between his ribs and pelvic bone without causing any further damage; now the surgeon is confident he can repair the puncture without any lasting effects for the child; and even if he ends up having to remove that whole section of bowel, the remaining ileum can be connected to the transverse colon, capably performing in its place. I really wish I had more to tell you…but, except that he's in good hands, your son is stabilized and barring any complications should be out of surgery and in recovery in the next few hours." Dr. Beckman started to stand up and the Hardys stood with her.

"Thank you," Fenton said, his words heartfelt, "before you go though – do you know when we can see Frankie?"

The doctor nodded. "Of course. I'll have someone take you to see him immediately." She paused and added, "I thought you would also like to know that the man who was brought in with the gunshot wound is out of surgery and in recovery, under police guard. He's going to be just fine."

"Thank you," the young detective repeated; his face hardening as he thought about Rigado. He appreciated her letting them know that the kidnapper was still on the premises.

-------

A few minutes later, Laura and Fenton were taken up to see Frank while the rest of their family waited in the ER for further word on Joe. Just after they left, an older grizzle-faced cop came into the hospital, saw Francis and made a beeline towards him.

"Frank," the cop greeted, tipping his head to Agnes and Gertrude, "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure," Francis said and then excused himself to talk to the cop in private.

After they had gone out of earshot, the officer continued, "I got the info you were looking for-"

"On Joe Rigado?" the ex-cop said, his face brightening with excitement.

"Yup, one Joseph Rigado. The only surprising thing is that car he was driving wasn't stolen. It actually belonged to his mother. He got it when she died," the other man said. He paused and added, "this guy has a rap sheet as long as my arm. Nothing big but lots of petty stuff. He's a small time hustler, into gambling and illegal gaming….This kidnapping and attempted murder was a whole new game for him."

"This doesn't make any sense then," Francis said, frowning. He ran a hand through his hair, distractedly. "Why would he make this kind of leap?" There was one answer but the retiree didn't want to admit it – _maybe Joe Rigado was his new grandson's father after all. Why else would he have singled Fenton's family out for something contrary to his usual MO?_

"I don't know," the cop admitted. "It doesn't really matter though, now. We got him – he can't hurt anyone else."

Francis wasn't so sure, but thanked his friend anyway and after promising to stop by the station in the near future for a coffee, made his way back to his family. Sitting down next to Agnes, he scowled.

"What's wrong?" the intuitive woman asked as Gertrude and Cecil glanced across at him.

"Nothing," the man said. Agnes cocked her eyebrow and he amended, "okay, maybe not nothing. Just nothing I wanted to hear."

Agnes continued looking at him and Francis sighed. "Okay. Fine. I had Ronny run that check on Rigado while we were waiting and I didn't like what he found out."

"What was that?" his wife asked immediately. Her blue eyes were bright with concern that she wasn't going to like what he found out either.

"Only that this stunt he pulled today is a new low for him. It's not his usual thing," the man said, rubbing his face wearily.

"What exactly does that mean?" Agnes pressed.

"It means that there has to be some explanation why Joe Rigado picked Fenton to harass – and that reason might be that he really is little Joey's real father." The words felt sour in his mouth and his stomach churned at even admitting the possibility. Cecil, who had been sitting quietly beside Gertrude and listening to this, suddenly spoke up.

"Excuse me, sir," he started tentatively, "but did I just hear you call Frankie's abductor '_Joe Rigado'_?"

Francis looked at his daughter's 'male friend.' "Yes, I did," he said slowly, a warning building in the back of his mind, "Do you know him?"

Cecil paled and for the first time since the ex-cop had met him, looked nervous and out of place. "Um…actually," the younger man admitted, "I do."

Francis looked at him in disbelief. Since this man had shown up on his doorway the day before, the older man had learned his daughter had a boyfriend, who was a bingo caller, that she had met at her cat's funeral…AND that they rappelled…for fun. He wasn't sure he was ready for any more surprises.

Sitting back, he let out an exaggerated sigh, prayed for patience and just said, "Talk."

**------**

Frank was still asleep when Laura and Fenton entered his room. Immediately the young mother flew to her son, brushing an errant tear from her cheek as she stroked his pale face with trembling fingers. Her smile was shaky as she looked down at the child, relief flooding her body now that she could see – touch – him herself. Her baby was safe…

"Mommy's here," Laura whispered as she leaned over and placed a warm kiss on his still chilled forehead, momentarily jolted once again by the fear that had held her when she'd seen Rigado throw him into that car and drive off.

"He's okay Laura," Fenton's voice from behind her spoke softly and she felt his warm hand on the small of her back as he leaned over to brush a shock of dark brown hair off Frank's forehead.

"I know," she said quietly, "I know." And she did…but still she was the child's mother so she worried, and would probably do so for a long time to come. Laura had come too close to losing him – to losing both of them, she amended, thinking of the small blond child still in surgery – to dismiss her fears so quickly.

"I just don't understand," she admitted, sitting down on the edge of the bed and lightly stroking Frank's bare arm. "Why'd that man do this to us? Even if he is Joey's father, why'd he want to hurt Frankie?"

"Well…" Fenton said carefully, as he stood on the other side of his son's bed and peered down into his young face, "I don't think it was Frankie he was after—"

Laura's head jerked up as she looked at her husband, quickly picking up on what he hadn't said. "But grabbed him when Joey fell into the well?" she finished softly.

"That's what I think," Fenton agreed with a sigh.

Laura was quiet for a few moments as she gazed at her little boy again. Slowly a smile traced her lips and she shook her head. "How much you want to bet that when Frankie wakes up, the first thing he is going to do is demand to know where Joey is?"

Fenton actually gave a little laugh as he gazed fondly at the sleeping youngster. "Even if I was a betting man, I'd never lay odds on that one."

"He really does seem to enjoy having Joey around, doesn't he? In being a big brother" Laura commented. That had been one of their biggest concerns when they had considered adoption – _how would Frank feel? Would he feel displaced and resentful or would he accept the new child as his brother and be willing to share his parents and his life with him?_

"I think he downright thrives on it," Fenton speculated. "He's certainly become quite protective of Joey, especially so in the past couple of days – to the point of impertinence at times."

"So I've noticed," Laura agreed with a small laugh, thinking of the kitchen talk she and Agnes had had with the boys, and the flash of over-protectiveness Frank had shown. "I just hope this won't change things between them in some way…"

Fenton moved to stand behind his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders and peering down at Frank from behind her. "I don't think it will…not in a negative way, anyway."

Laura placed one of her hands over his and squeezed gently. "I hope you're right Fenton. I really do."

'_So do I'_, thought the detective_. 'So do I.'_

------

For a moment Cecil never said anything. He wanted to choose his words carefully, knowing that what he was about to reveal might change the way Gertrude and her family saw him. And then taking a steadying breath he started speaking:

"As you already know, I've worked for a long time as a bingo caller. And like most other professional callers, I started out working church bingos on a volunteer basis – to build up experience, you know." He kept his gaze on Francis, though he was dying to look at Gertrude. After three years, he was very adept at reading her and he was desperate for some sort of reassurance that what he was going to tell her wouldn't change how she felt for him. But he didn't. Not yet.

"It was at St. Ruth's that I meet Josephine Rigado….A widower, she was a lonely older lady who frequented bingo as often as the church held it, and over time we became friends—" He glanced at Gertrude and stressed, "just friends. Nothing else."

She gave him a small nod, encouraging him to continue.

"Josie was a lovely lady but she had a problem…her son, Joe. She actually had two children – a son and a daughter – but it was the boy who was giving her a run for the money….The kid was a wild child and she couldn't do anything with him at all. He needed a good male role model, she insisted and I – feeling very badly for this sweet lady – offered to take him under my wing, per se. Spend time with him you know, take him to the movies, talk to him, things like that; be the dad – big brother – that she just couldn't be…and I did – or at least I tried to, anyway." He stopped speaking and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes briefly. As he did so a rush of memories flooded his mind, making him very tired. Josie had been a good friend and even after ten years, he missed her dearly.

"And?" Francis pressed, leaning towards the other man.

Cecil opened his eyes. He felt Gertrude touch his hand and gave her a wan smile, relieved to see a look of understanding mixed with pride on her face. "And I think it helped…for a little while anyway, or at least that's what Josie told me. JR – I nicknamed him that – and I became good friends. He'd come by and we'd talk about stuff or just hang out. He liked my cat. And then it just all stopped—"

"What happened?" It was Gertrude this time asking, "Why'd it just stop?"

Cecil's smile turned sad as he looked at the love of his life. "Josie died." He felt her hand tighten on his. "We just lost contact. I started working full time and JR went on his own way…"

"So you haven't seen Joe Rigado _in years_?" Francis tried to clarify.

"Oh no – not years," the other man quickly denied. "About two months ago, JR showed up at the bingo hall as if it had only been yesterday….We met a couple of times for coffee since then, and just before Christmas he dropped by again and told he was going to Rhode Island to spend the holidays with his sister. Needless to say, I was stunned when I saw him in town."

"Needless to say," Francis repeated absently and then shot his wife a look when Agnes elbowed him lightly in the ribs, giving him a stern look. "What? I believe him! I don't think he had anything to do with all this but – as fascinating as this has been – it still doesn't help explain how Rigado knew about Fenton and Laura adopting Joey, unless he's the boy's real father."

Cecil's eyes widened. "JR's Joey's real father?"

"We don't know," the ex-cop admitted, "he showed up at the house making that claim and then hinting, none too subtly, that we could buy him off. I hate to even think it, but he must be the father – how else could he have known about all this?"

"Um… sir," the bingo caller started up again, "actually that might be my fault."

This time Francis didn't say anything; he just looked at the younger man and waited.

------

Frank felt horrible. That was the first thing the child noticed as he regained consciousness. His stomach felt bad and his head was headachy.

"Frankie? Sweetie? Are you okay?" A soft voice next to his ear made the child turn his head slightly as he forced his eyes open and saw the anxious faces of his parents watching him carefully.

"Frankie!" his father's elated voice made him wince and Fenton lowered it before continuing to speak, "Son? How are you feeling?"

The child thought about that seriously for a moment before he answered. But as he opened his mouth to tell them about his tummy and head, the image of a small blond boy disappearing into the dark ground flashed into his mind – Joe!

"J-Joey?" he forced out. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and he had to work hard to make it work properly, "Where's…Joey?"

------

Francis stood up to meet Fenton when he saw his son come into the waiting room an hour later. Cecil had taken Gertrude and Agnes up to the cafeteria for something to eat, promising to bring back coffee when they came.

"Any word on Joe?" the worried young father asked immediately, and his father shook his head.

"Not yet. But no news is good news," he reminded his son.

"I really hate that saying," Fenton grumbled and then added, "Frankie's awake. He's doing pretty good – a bit sick and achy, but that's to be expected. He asked about Joey first thing."

"That's great news." Francis smiled in relief.

"You can go up to see him if you want. I'll stay here for a bit. Hopefully we'll hear something soon," the younger man said, already moving towards the plastic chairs. His father grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Thanks son – and I think I will. But first I've got some things to tell you." Before Fenton could say anything, Francis quickly told him about Cecil's connection to Joe Rigado. Stunned, the young sleuth just stared at his father.

"Are you kidding me?" Fenton finally asked when Francis stopped speaking. His father shook his head:

"No, and there's one more thing…"

"I'm almost afraid to ask," the younger man mumbled, running his hands through his hair in exasperation.

"I've finally got good reason to believe that Rigado is not Joey's father after all. Apparently, Cecil told JR about Gertrude's brother adopting a little boy, and Rigado was _very i_nterested in it, bringing it up a number of times during their meetings!"

"Finally—" Fenton said, exhaling loudly, "a good reason to explain all this without it involving Joe Rigado being Joey's natural father. Now we just have to prove it."

"Well, we're at a hospital," Francis reminded his son needlessly, "you could have a paternity test done – not that it would matter anyway. YOU and Laura are Joey's legal parents now, no matter what."

"I know," the detective admitted, "I just wanted to give some closure to Joey on this – one way or the other."

"Maybe you can," a familiar voice said, and the men whirled around to see Dr. Beckman walking towards them. She had heard the tail end of the conversation and smiled. "First things first though. I just wanted to update you that Joey is doing very well. The surgeon was able to repair the damage and your son is on his way to recovery as we speak—"

Fenton exhaled loudly with relief as Francis grabbed him in a tight hug murmuring, "Oh thank God!"

Dr. Beckman smiled and turned away for a moment until the two men had re-composed themselves. And then she added, her brown eyes twinkling brightly, "And as for that closure, I overheard what you talking about and I can tell you right now _without_ doing a DNA test that there is no way Joe Rigado could be your son's natural father..." She smiled broadly at the stunned faces that slowly melted into elation as her words sunk in. "It's as simple as this. Our gunshot patient is blood type AB; our little blond boy is blood type O…." She shrugged. "They both needed blood when they arrived so we had them typed and matched. I don't know exactly what blood type Joey's real father is, but I can tell you unambiguously that it cannot be type AB."

And in that one statement, Dr. Beckman gave Fenton Hardy back his family. His whole family.

**tbc**


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you for commenting. I know some people think this is the last chapter and I'm sorry to disappoint. This is the second last… I hope you enjoy.

**The First Noel**

**Chapter 9**

"I want to see Joey," six-year-old Frank Hardy stated for the twenty-seventh time in the last hour. Well, his mother wasn't sure of the exact number of times, but figured that was close enough.

"I know you do, honey," Laura said with a sigh as she sat by the little boy's hospital bed and waited for the doctor to discharge him. Although he was still a bit chilled and nauseous, the child was insisting he was fine and in dire need of seeing his brother. His mother didn't understand his urgency and he had yet to give her a better answer than _'cause I just have to.'_ "But as I've explained – more than once now, sweetie – there are rules that we have to follow and one of them, in this hospital, is that little boys can't visit anyone unless they are twelve."

"But it's not _anyone_ I want to visit," the child insisted petulantly, "he's my brother. My little brother—" he turned dark brown eyes on her in his best pleading look, "that's got to count for something!"

Laura turned to her father-in-law as he came into the room, relieved for backup. The last hour had been very…very…very long. As happy as she was that Frank was relatively all right and showing no ill effects of his traumatic morning, she was exhausted and slowly losing patience as he just refused to take no for an answer.

"And it does," Francis assured his grandson, catching the tail end of his plea and having already been witness to this battle of wills a little earlier. He had only left briefly to get an update from Agnes on Joey. Agnes and Fenton were waiting for the child to be moved from recovery and into a room so they could finally see him. "It counts for some pretty big things. But right now your brother is still sleeping and wouldn't even know you were there."

"But—" Frank started to protest; his grandfather cut him off gently.

"So we'll wait until he wakes up so we don't waste a visit."

"Francis," Laura said softly as she looked at the man in surprise, "you know the rules as well as I do. Frankie is too young to visit Joey in here."

"Yes I do," the ex-cop said as he gave his grandson a wink and then sat down on the edge of the bed, "can't say I care for them much myself. But I do know 'em. Heck, at one time I used to enforce the rules…. Well, maybe not this one—" he teased, his eyes twinkling as he looked at Frank. "I don't enforce silly ones!" Still smiling at the youngster, Francis addressed Laura this time: "Why don't you go grab a coffee or something – I'll stay with the little blighter for a bit."

"Would you?" Laura asked, slowly getting up and only now realizing just how stiff she was from her past couple hours' vigil at her son's bedside. As much as she didn't want to go, she realized she did need to take a break. Turning back to her son, she asked him, "Do you mind if Mommy leaves for a little while – I won't be gone long."

"Probably going to go see Joey just 'cause I can't," the little boy grumbled as he folded his arms across his chest and scowled.

"Francis Fenton Hardy is that anyway to talk to your mother?" Francis reprimanded quietly, and the child winced at the use of his full name. He shook his head slightly, his face flushed as he answered contritely:

"Sorry, Mommy."

Laura leaned over the bed and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "I do understand how badly you want to see your brother, baby, I do," she whispered. "I won't be long."

"Mommy?" he asked as she started to pull away. His mother hesitated and waited for him to continue. "Tell Joey hi for me?"

"Frankie – he's not awake ye—"

"I know," the little boy interrupted, "but tell him anyway?"

Laura's heart just about broke and she smiled through blurring vision. "Sure, baby," she promised, "anything for you."

Francis watched his daughter-in-law leave and then sat down in the chair she had just vacated. "Okay, Sport," he said seriously, "now that the woman folk has been taken care of, you want to tell me why you're so hell-bent on seeing your brother right this instant?"

The child chewed his lip and for a moment the retiree didn't think he was going to answer him, but then Frank sighed and just said, "'Cause I broke my big-brother promise to him and I got to tell him I'm sorry."

------

Fenton Hardy smiled when he saw his wife walking down the corridor towards him. His mother was waiting with him and moved away to give him the young couple some privacy.

As he hugged his wife tightly, the detective sighed wearily, just wanting to take his whole family home – although he knew that right now, that was impossible.

"Where's Gertrude and Cecil?" Laura asked after they had reluctantly pulled away. Fenton kept his arm wrapped around her slender frame, needing the continued contact as much she did. They sat down.

"They took the dog back to the house. They're going to pick up some clothes for Frankie and then come back."

"Sam." Laura's hand flew over her mouth; she had completely forgotten that the dog had gone with the men, as their departure seemed so long ago now. "Poor dog."

"_Poor dog?_" Fenton snorted softly as he leaned back in the chair. Laura immediately moved to snuggle up against him, letting out a little sigh as she did so. "Poor _me!_ I'm covered in dog fur as it is – and now it's going to be even worse. He's done nothing except sit in the truck and _shed_ for the past couple of hours."

"My poor baby," Laura patronized him, as she patted his chest consolingly, "the things you do for us."

Fenton grabbed her hand and held it as he leaned down to kiss her upturned face gently. "I'd gladly do them a million times again," his words caressed her cheek and she shivered against him.

"Ahem," Agnes said loudly as she approached the pair. The couple looked questioningly at her and she indicated down the hall where they saw Dr. Beckman hurrying towards them – a smile on her face.

"How's Joey?" Laura asked, swiftly rising to her feet, her husband a heart beat behind her.

"He's doing just fine," the doctor assured them, "and is being moved into a room as we speak. If you'd care to follow me, I'll take you to see him."

"Oh thank goodness!" Who said it didn't matter, as it expressed the feelings of them all.

"He's still unconscious but I'm sure he'd appreciate the comfort of having one of you with him anyway," the doctor talked as she walked; the three Hardys right behind her. "We're going to keep him pretty heavily sedated, just to give his body a head start on healing…so don't expect much from him right now. In the morning – if all goes well – we'll reduce the medication and let him start to wake up."

"Can one of us stay here with him anyway?" Agnes asked. "He won't know we're here…but we'll know." Her softly aged face was creased in concern over the mere idea that the child might be expected to stay by himself, sedated or not.

Dr. Beckman flashed the older woman a compassionate look. "Of course. He's in a private room, as per your insurance, so as long as you don't disturb any of the other patients, you're more than welcome to stay."

"Drat," Fenton said in mock horror, his mood lightened in anticipation of finally seeing Joe, "there goes my plans for a rip-roaring party."

Laura elbowed him to be quiet and the doctor just chuckled and then stopped at the elevator and pressed the button to go up.

"How's little Frankie?" she asked, "Has Dr. Percell discharged him yet?"

"Not yet," Laura admitted, "Soon I hope, though. He's very anxious to get out of here."

"And up to see his brother, no doubt," the young doctor grinned and then explained, "My sister is a nurse on Frankie's floor and apparently their star patient is making no bones about letting everyone know how he feels about the age restriction on visitors."

"Oh my," Agnes said as both Laura and Fenton flushed, but Dr. Beckman just laughed as the elevator door opened and she beckoned them to go in.

"It's okay. The staff thinks it's adorable how concerned he is about Joey – and he's so cute anyway….Apparently he's got a pout that could melt a glacier."

"Good thing too," Fenton muttered under his breath, making everyone else chuckle, "he's going to need it the next time I get a chance to talk to him."

------

Minutes later, the trio was led into a small room. And as Dr. Beckman discreetly excused herself, they hurried towards the deathly pale figure lying so still in the hospital bed.

"Joey," Laura whispered, leaning over to kiss his cheek, "oh b-baby." Her voice quivered as she took in his unnatural stillness and she never bothered to brush away the lone tear that streaked down her cheek. "Oh baby…" she repeated, "Mommy is here."

Agnes' face was soft with affection as she watched her son and daughter-in-law with their unconscious child. Her throat constricted at the emotion that hung over the reunion and she felt like an intruder – Fenton and Laura needed some time alone with the child. So with one more look at the motionless little figure, she turned and left the room. Satisfied that all the members of her family were indeed safe, the old woman let out a heavy sigh and went to find her husband and older grandson.

She had no idea what Francis might be plotting – yet – but there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that one way or another, Frank was going to get to see his brother…hospital rules be damned.

Shaking her head at the thought, Agnes pushed open the hospital room door in time to hear her husband's hushed words: "Don't worry Frankie…I have a plan…"

**------**

"You're awfully quiet," Gertrude Hardy remarked to Cecil as they drove back to the hospital with a change of clothes for Frank. Her companion had hardly said two words since they had left the hospital almost two hours ago.

Cecil sighed and the woman's concern grew. In all the time she had known him, they had never had any trouble talking – no awkwardness between them – until now. There was an uncomfortable feeling radiating from her friend and she was determined to find out what was wrong.

"Are you feeling okay?" she pressed, deciding to guess by process of elimination. Although he always assured her otherwise, Gertrude did worry about Cecil's health, and as she scrutinized him she did think he looked a bit wearier than usual.

The tall, thin man always had a gaunt look about him, but today it was more pronounced than usual.

"I'm fine," he assured her, his eyes firmly fixed on the road.

"When's your next visit to the cardiologist?" Gertrude inquired.

"Two months," Cecil answered, again without looking at her. He sighed again and then repeated, "I'm fine."

"Okay, then you're mad at me," the woman said, baiting him, and he responded vehemently:

"Good gosh, no, Gertie, whatever in the world could I be angry with you about?"

"Wow, a sentence with more than two words in it this time," the woman couldn't help but rib, even as the joviality didn't quite meet her eyes – she was very worried.

"My cheeky girl," Cecil said fondly as he cast her a quick glance, and then slowly pulled over to the side of the road. Obviously whatever he was going to say required his full attention. After he had put the car in Park, the man turned in the seat and gazed at Gertrude intently for a few moments without saying anything.

Blushing, the woman tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, shifting a bit under this close scrutiny. Finally Cecil spoke. "I'm just amazed that after everything, you still want to talk to me."

"What do you mean?" Gertrude demanded.

"I mean," the bingo caller said slowly, "that if you – and your family – wanted to hate me, I'd completely understand that. If it wasn't for me, none of this would have ever happened." His brown eyes were sorrowful and cut Gertrude to the quick. "Joe Rigado only came into your family's life because of me – those two precious little boys are only in the hospital because of me—"

"Hogwash!" Blue eyes flashing with indignation, the woman interrupted Cecil's self-condemnation. "This is only your fault if you told that – that _villain_ about Joey's adoption knowing he'd try something." Her voice softened and she reached out to touch his cheek. Cecil closed his eyes briefly and swallowed hard; he opened them and admitted with heartfelt honesty:

"If I had any idea of what JR could be capable of, I'd never have told him about you, Gertie…_nothing;_ let alone anything about your family or the adoption. I am just so sorry." He sighed. "Your brother probably wants to kill me – and I don't blame him."

"I highly doubt that," the woman said with a trace of a smile, "Fenton might be a pain in the butt at times, but he's a fair man – a good brother. He won't hold you responsible for what someone else did….And if he does, he's going to have me to answer to for it!" Cecil could not help but chuckle at the ferocity in her voice. Gertrude shook her head as she looked at him unabashedly, "The only thing anyone of us can fault you on is having faith in other people…but then again that is part of your charm, isn't it? You are my dreamer, Cecil Mouland, and I wouldn't want you any other way."

"And you are my foundation, Gertrude Hardy," the man said, reaching across to brush an errant strand of dark hair from her forehead. "You keep me grounded and reminded that life is indeed a wonderful thing…" Then leaning across the seat, Cecil kissed Gertrude's cheek lightly before putting the car in Drive and pulling back onto the road. A few miles ahead of them, they knew a very anxious little boy was waiting. And they had his clothes.

------

Frank scowled all the way back to his grandparents' house. Both his head and his tummy were still feeling funny but it was nothing compared to the growing thickness in his heart. "It doesn't feel right," he protested to the adults sitting in the front seat, "leaving Joey back there all by himself!"

"He's not by himself," Agnes said, glancing over her shoulder at her grandson. "Your mother and father are with him," she reminded him gently.

"Besides," Francis added, "he's not going to be awake until tomorrow and you'll be right there when he does – I promise. _Rules be damned_, "he muttered under his breath, ignoring the look his wife threw him.

"I know," the child admitted; he sighed and glanced out the window as his grandfather pulled off the road and drove up the driveway towards the house. "It's still not the same, though."

He was no longer scowling – now he just looked plain miserable – and as he got out of the truck and crunched through the snow towards the front door, he stopped and looked at the snowman. His grandfather's hand gently squeezed his shoulder and the little boy turned and buried his face into his grandfather's legs, sobbing. The tall man stooped down to pick him up.

"Shhhh, kiddo," Francis consoled as he carried his distraught grandson into the house, "everything will be okay. You'll see…and Joey will be home before you know it – I promise you that."

"I – I just m-miss him a-already," Frank sniffed and stammered as he pressed his wet face in against the man's warm neck. It just felt so strange and scary to be back here without his brother. Through his distress, the child could only wonder at himself about that – about how quickly Joe had become such a fixture in his life. But he had, and Frank wanted him here, now.

"So do I," Francis admitted quietly as he followed Agnes into the living room where she pulled the blanket down on the couch for Frank to lie on, where they could easily keep an eye on him. Instead of putting the child down though, the man sat himself, still holding the upset little boy in his arms, as hesitant to let him go as Frank was to be let go.

Frank looked up his grandfather, mild surprise on his face. "You do?"

"Yes I do," the ex-cop smiled and brushed the tear-streaked little face, "I might not have known him as long as you have – but I love him and miss him just like you do."

His admittance had a surprising effect on the child – seeming to calm him down with the knowledge that Francis was missing Joe too. Snuggling up against his grandfather's strong chest, the little boy sighed and closed his eyes; a weariness owned him and he was asleep within moments.

As Frank slept, his grandfather continued to hold him and gaze down into the tranquil little face; his own, much older one, filled with wonder at the child.

"You are an amazing kid, _Francis_," he whispered as he laid his head back and closed his eyes, his own exhaustion catching up with him; this had been an incredibly long day. But even as he drifted off, his thoughts weren't very far from the hospital room where his other grandson lay.

It never once occurred to him that his plan might not work and that Frank might not be able to get in to see Joe….Failure was not an option.

------

Joe Rigado moved stealthily through the hospital halls. He didn't have much time before someone realized he'd escaped…but instead of leaving, he headed up the stairs. He was desperate – if he didn't get some money to pay back his gambling debt, he'd be a dead man anyway…in jail or out; he had nothing left to lose…so pushing open the door to room 401, Rigado stepped inside and pointed the gun he had taken off his now-unconscious guard at a stunned Fenton and Laura Hardy.

"Fancy meeting you here," he smiled, moving into the room. He glanced briefly at the unconscious child in the bed. "What's this Fenton? I thought you'd take much better care of my son."

"He isn't your son," Fenton spit out, placing himself between Rigado and Joe. He'd die before he let this man touch his son.

Rigado stopped and shrugged, "He isn't your son either."

"Yes he is," Laura growled, standing beside her husband, her blue eyes flashing in anger. "In _every_ way that matters." Fenton glanced at her, surprise clearly written on his face; he had never heard that possessive tone in her voice before. In fact, neither had she.

The gunman was amused and winked at Fenton. "A tigress, that one is…" He turned savage: "However, as fun as this might be, I don't have time. Here's the deal – you and the missus are going with me right now. We're making one stop – the closest bank machine, where you're going to empty your accounts. You give me the money and I give you your lives."

"And if we don't?" Fenton demanded, quickly weighing his options.

Rigado shrugged. "If you don't…I kill your tiger." With that, he pointed the gun at Laura.

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

Well, here you go. The last chapter and it's a long one. Thank you to everyone for their wonderful comments and support. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I will give the boys some rest for a bit before I torment them again

**The First Noel**

**Chapter 10**

"Okay," Laura said quickly, moving towards the man, desperate to make sure that he didn't hurt Joe any further. "We'll go with you." She felt her husband's gaze on her and gave him a reassuring nod, trusting in him to somehow get them out of this – eventually. Wordlessly Fenton followed.

Satisfied, Rigado moved out of the way to let the detective and wife go first but as Laura opened the door, she stepped back in surprise as Cecil and Gertrude stood there – Cecil's hand poised to knock. He blinked in shock when he saw the man now standing behind Fenton.

Quickly the gunman stepped back to the small bed and aimed the gun at the unconscious child. "In here NOW! One wrong move and it'll be bye-bye Joey."

"JR!" Cecil said, his face pale and disbelieving as he hurriedly followed the desperate man's instruction, Gertrude right behind him. "What are you doing? Haven't you caused this family enough grief?"

"_Grief?"_ Rigado cried, "What the hell do they know about grief? Or even you, old man. The world is handed to you on a silver platter while guys like me are left hanging, begging for a handout."

"What are you talking about?" the older man asked – genuinely confused – as he held his young friend's gaze. Behind them, Gertrude reached out and grabbed Laura's hand, as the younger woman could not tear her eyes from the gun threatening her little boy's fragile hold on life; Fenton stood poised beside them, just waiting for his chance. Rigado would slip up and when he did the detective would be ready.

"All I wanted was enough money to pay Fat Eddy the money I owed him – but no, you had to go and make things complicated," Rigado sneered at Fenton. "You should have just given me the money and then none of this would have ever happened."

"_Money?_" Cecil actually scoffed, "This is about money?"

"What the hell did you think it was about?" JR demanded. "A prime parking spot?"

"Well no," the older man admitted, "But – I…" he paused and his face hardened, "How much?"

"How much what?" The gunman played dumb as he pressed the gun against Joe's head and enjoyed the horror that filtered across the faces of the boy's family.

"Money, JR. How much money do you owe?" Cecil clarified, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart in his chest. _If Rigado pulled that trigger…_

"Ten thousand," Rigado admitted, his gaze shifting nervously towards Fenton and then back to Cecil. The hand holding the gun was steady, though.

"I'll give you the money," Cecil immediately offered, ignoring the shocked gasps from behind him.

"_What?"_ Now it was the thug's turn to be shocked. "You got to be kidding, old man."

"I don't kid when it comes to money," the bingo caller stated. "Now put that gun down and step away from that poor child—"

"Oh no," Rigado growled, "I'm on to you. Offer me the money knowing you won't have to pay it because I'll be in jail? I don't think so."

"You silly child," Cecil snapped in an uncustomary show of anger, "if I offered the money then I fully intend to see you have it! This way there won't be any fatal 'accidents' while you're behind bars. Now give up this charade and move away from that boy!"

"Why?" Rigado demanded, stuck between belief and disbelief, "Why would you do this?"

"Because your mother was a dear friend of mine and I would do her memory a huge injustice if I let something happen to you that I had the power to stop—" Cecil admitted, moving slowly towards the gunman. "And because I know money is exactly that – just money. Painted paper. It can't buy you the truly important things in life but if it will keep you alive JR, you can have it."

"I don't understand." The man let his gun hand fall. He was still holding the gun but it was no longer pointed at Joe. "You have everything."

"No I don't," Cecil admitted, stopping right in front of the younger man. "I don't have the same privileges in life that you do, my young misguided friend."

Rigado snorted but before he could say anything the older man continued, "I won't live to be an old man JR." He paused and then continued, his stomach twisting as he knew how much it hurt Gertrude to be reminded so bluntly about all this. "Look at me. Take a good look at me and tell me what you see."

"I see you," JR said, shrugging his shoulders and not understanding what Cecil was getting at.

"You see a tall man – too tall maybe. Long arms. Long legs. Narrow face. Rather average, if not older looking than my years suggest….But what you don't see is that I have a condition, an inherited condition – Marfan Syndrome. And because of that, I see a cardiologist more frequently than any man my age should; I suffer stomach problems, vision problems; chronic pain – and each time I go see a doctor I'm terrified that he's going to tell me my time is near….My body is sick, JR, and all the money in the world won't give me what _you_ take for granted. Your life…and your immortality…" He glanced at Joe, his face sad and remorseful. "You say I have the world handed to me on a silver platter but you are mistaken, my young friend. It is _you_ that has had such opportunity and withered it away by not seeing what was right in front of your face….What I have is hereditary, born with me, and as I would not wish it upon my own children, it will die with me…" He held out his hand. "Give me the gun JR, and I will give you the money." He snorted. "For all the use it's been to me… It can't save my life but just maybe it can save yours."

A tense silence radiated in the room as Fenton, Laura and Gertrude watched the drama unfold. Laura's fingers tightened around Gertrude's hand as she heard Cecil's candid admission about himself and his health. And suddenly it made so much sense it hurt, as to why, after all these years, this proud woman had finally let herself fall in love with him…his decision to never have children must have been as painful as her decision to never risk her heart. And yet in the end, they had found solace in each other; a consolation to the fates that life had so cruelly cast at them.

Laura glanced at her husband and saw him swallow hard and knew he was just as affected by the words. And suddenly they were no longer Cecil and Gertrude but Romeo and Juliet; star-crossed lovers. Theirs was a love that would end alone, but until then…until then they could have their happily ever after. If they got out of this room alive.

And then Joe Rigado let the gun drop harmlessly to the floor. "I'm sorry," he whispered, as a wave of dizziness overcame him and the world swam sickeningly. "Oh God I'm so sorry." Collapsing, he was surprised when Cecil moved to catch him.

"I know," the older man simply said, "I know."

------

Meanwhile…back at the house…

Agnes helped Francis adjust a sleeping Frank into a comfortable position on the couch before the man stood up and stretched, groaning lightly as he worked the kinks out of his back.

"You okay?" Agnes asked as they moved into the kitchen so they could talk without disturbing the child.

"No," Francis said as he rubbed his neck. He had fallen asleep with Frank for a while and his body was now reminding him that it didn't particularly like the position the old man had been sitting in.

"What's wrong?" his wife asked, looking at him with concern on her face.

"I'm old," the ex-cop grumbled, "useless…worn out…run down—"

"Cantankerous? Outdated? Past your expiry date?" Agnes offered helpfully, smiling at the look her husband shot her.

"Enough helping," he scolded as he sat down at the table and accepted the cup of coffee she offered.

"So what's the plan?" Agnes asked, sitting down across from him.

"What plan?" Francis feigned innocence.

"Oh please," the woman scoffed, "you can't tell me you haven't figured out a way yet to get Frankie in to see Joey."

"That would be against hospital rules!" the old man protested, "And you know how I am about rules—"

"Yes I do," Agnes interrupted, "and that's why I'm asking you what you're planning. I figure I should know ahead of time in case I have to make bail or something for the two of you."

"Aggie!" Francis cried out in indignation, "I'm insulted! Whenever have—"

"1972. Miami. It was hot night on the boardwalk…" his wife promptly stated, and the ex-cop held up his hands in mock horror.

"One time! One time, I say, and it's held against a guy for the rest of his life!"

"You asked, " his wife reminded him, taking a sip of her coffee, "Now spill, Francis – what are you going to do?"

Sighing in defeat, the ex-cop let a crafty little smile steal across his face. "I'm going to arrest him."

"Arrest who?" Agnes was afraid she already knew the answer…. And she did.

"Frankie."

**------**

"Dang-nabit." Francis grunted as he sucked in a deep breath and tried to button up the front of his shirt, "What'd you wash this with? Dang thing's shrunk."

"More like you've expanded," Agnes commented as she watched in amusement while her husband tried unsuccessfully to put on his old police uniform.

"Expanded, my butt!" the man scoffed as he took off the shirt and tossed it on the bed, his face a bit red from exertion.

"That too," the woman chuckled as she picked up the discarded shirt and started to put it back on the hanger. She appraised her frustrated-looking husband and felt her heart pang with sympathy – she knew he never took this into account when he thought up his 'brilliant' plan. "Do you really need to wear the uniform?" she asked.

"Well it _would_ help," Francis admitted, scowling at the topless reflection of himself in the mirror. He flexed and frowned. "I don't recall being so – so 'loose' before." he plucked at the flesh that used to be formidable triceps. "When the hell did this happen? And why wasn't I informed?"

His wife rolled her eyes and came to stand behind her husband, looking at his reflection in the mirror. She smiled. "Don't fret too much, Francis. You'll always be my beefy-boy."

Francis blushed and then turned to look at her, muttering under his breath as he did so, "That's the problem…too much beef." He sighed and added, "I'm still out a shirt."

"And pants," his wife pointed out, noticing that he was still in his pajama bottoms.

"Tried them too, but liked breathing too much to keep them on," the retiree confessed, slumping down on the bed and scrubbing his face in annoyance. "How in the world am I ever supposed to face Frankie again? He's counting on me to pull this off! I'm the worst grandfather in the whole world," Francis added dramatically.

Agnes tried to keep from laughing at her melodramatic soul mate. She reached out and touched his shoulder, "Well, you could be an undercover cop – I hear they don't wear uniforms much."

Instantly Francis's eyes lit up. "Of course!" he said, springing to his feet and giving his wife a big hug, "that's even better! What would I ever do without you?"

"Perish the thought," Agnes quipped dryly and then reached into the closet and plucked out a white shirt and navy blue tie. When she saw the look of horror cross Francis's face she shrugged, "What? You were planning on wearing plaid or something? Now get dressed and I'll get Frankie ready. Your good coat is downstairs. Hurry up, Francis. Fenton said that they were going to let Joey wake up this morning and I don't want to miss it."

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" the man said hopping on one foot as he whipped off his pajama bottoms and started to put on a pair of dress pants. "Not exactly how I planned to spend New Year's Eve," he grumbled as he did so.

Agnes hurried down the hall to make sure her grandson was ready.

Ten minutes later, the trio left the house and headed towards the hospital.

------

Everything hurt. That was the first thing Joe noticed as he slowly regained consciousness. Around him, he could hear muffled voices but they still seemed too far away for him to make out what they were saying or even who they were.

The fleeting image of a dark-haired young boy with almost black eyes, smiled at him and was then gone, replaced with a sucking darkness that threatened to suffocate him, pulling him down into a dark, cold hole –

'_Frankie'_ he thought as anxiety filled his body, '_where's Frankie?'_ The child was overcome with an irrational terror that this had all been a dream and as soon as he opened his eyes, he'd find himself back in the boys' dorm of Foundling Hall – a state-run facility for children – and that he'd open his eyes to his mirror image smirking at him.

William would be pleased that his latest torment had left the younger boy in so much pain.

'_No, please,'_ Joe mentally whimpered. '_I want Frankie… Frankie's my brother now – my real brother_…'

In an instant he made a decision: if Frank _was_ a figment of his imagination – if the whole Hardy family was just a dream…then the small child never wanted to wake up again. And with that thought lodged firmly in his mind, Joe squeezed his eyes shut and refused to wake up.

------

"Ready?" Francis asked as he knelt down in front of his grandson outside the hospital and slipped a pair of handcuffs on the small boy. The cuffs weren't child sized and dangled rather uselessly on the thin wrists.

Frank nodded; his dark eyes as somber as they had ever been.

"Okay." The ex-cop stood up and straightened his tie. Agnes had already gone inside while he gave the child last-minute instruction before they infiltrated enemy territory. "Remember, Frankie. You gotta stay focused on the task – no matter what! You are the baddest six-year-old in the whole damn state. You are mean," the child narrowed his eyes menacingly. "You are ill-tempered," Frank's lip curled up in his best scowl. "And you are no one to be messed with." The boy actually growled.

Satisfied, the man placed a hand around his grandson's arm. "Okay boy – let's go see your brother!"

Agnes turned around in the entranceway and almost doubled over laughing at the image of her young grandson being led towards the hospital in handcuffs. The look on his face was priceless. _'The only thing missing',_ she decided, '_is a bit of foaming at the mouth!'_

Shaking her head, Agnes hurried past the security and triage desks towards the elevators. As much as she would love to hang back and witness this, she was afraid her presence might somehow ruin their charade. Besides which, she hadn't seen her younger grandson since the prior evening and she was very anxious to get upstairs.

As the elevator door closed, the woman finally let out the laughter she had been holding inside since seeing Francis' first try to get into his uniform this morning. Still chuckling a few moments later when the doors opened to let her on Joe's floor, Agnes paused long enough to wish the nursing staff a happy New Year, and then went into her grandson's room to wait. If all went according to plan, Francis and Frank would be joining them shortly.

------

"I'm sorry sir," a woman's voice called out as Francis brushed past the triage desk and towards the elevators. Wincing, he plastered a charming smile on his face and turned to meet the young security guard he had just nodded at only moments ago. "Children under twelve are not allowed on the ward floors. It's a hospital policy."

"And a damned fine one at that," the man agreed, keeping a hold of his grandson's arm. "If all kids are like this punk, you might want to consider rising that age, actually."

The security guard looked shocked as she seemed to notice the handcuffs for the first time.

With the fluidness that came from a lifetime of experience, Francis flashed his old badge at the girl and said tersely, "Detective Winchester, but you can call me Dean."

"Well Dean—" the young security guard never stood a chance as the man cut her off briskly.

"If you'll excuse me I have to be on my way." He punched the button to call the elevator. "I gotta get this kid to the precinct as soon as possible. Oh, don't let this innocent little face fool you, this one is the mastermind behind a major crime syndicate – I'm lucky I even caught him without taking some major damage to myself!" He leaned in close to the guard and said conspiratorially, "Mind you, don't let that get out, as I plan on milking this for all it's worth. Not every day you get to take down a major crime lord." The elevator doors slid open and Francis pushed Frank inside before backing in himself. "Anyway, keep up the good work – I'll put in a word for you at the station. Bye!" The door slid shut, leaving the young security guard to just stare at it for another few moments before shaking her head and turning back to her desk.

Any thoughts she might have had about checking this out any further quickly fled when a drunk man with a busted cheek went loco in the waiting room.

-----

"Easy peasy," Francis said, giving Frank a big smile and wink. "Next stop, Joey's room!"

The child beamed up at him – his hero worship for his grandfather cemented for life.

Things did not go as smoothly as planned, though.

When the elevator doors opened and the pair got out, Francis made a bee-line for Joe's room, pulling Frank along with him. His hand was just reaching for the door handle when a familiar voice called out to them.

"Mr. Hardy? Frankie?" Grimacing, the man slowly turned around to see Dr. Beckman hurrying towards them. "What are you doing here?" she asked the little boy.

"I'm under arrest," the boy said good-naturedly and then, remembering that he was supposed to be a crime lord, he growled at her and added, "so you better stand back 'cause I might bite!"

Amused, the doctor opened her mouth to say something when the child sneezed, promptly slipped one of hands out of the handcuffs, wiped his nose, and then put it back in the restraint. "And my name ain't Frankie. It's Sam—" he winked at his grandfather, "Sam _Winchester!_" He figured if that name was good enough for his grandfather, it was good enough for him.

Francis groaned and shook his head. The jig was up…but to his surprise the doctor laughed. "Well then," she said, "I'd better not stand in your way, _Sam." S_he looked at the man and winked before walking away.

Not bothering to question this unforeseen turn of events, Francis grabbed Frank's arm again and pushed open the door to Joe's room. "Come on squirt," he whispered, "let's go see your brother."

Frank never needed to be told twice.

------

Joe lay as still as his hurting body and frightened mind would allow. Around him he could pick out the voices of Fenton and Laura – or who he hoped were his parents, but he just wasn't too sure; maybe they were strangers who sounded like them because he wanted them to.

"C'mon sweetie," one of the voices pleaded. "Come back to us." He was almost positive one was his mother.

"Please son, you need to wake up now," and that one, his father.

Maybe everything was okay. Maybe he could open his eyes and he'd be all right…then a warm hand took his own and Joe was jolted by the familiarity of that touch. That presence…

Finally opening his eyes, Joe looked right into his brother's face and – and it was Frank!

"F-Frankie," he managed to croak as his vision blurred with tears; a combination of pain and relief. This was his life – it wasn't a dream. And these people were his family; his real family…for now and for always.

And as his family crowded around him in an excited huddle, Joe clung to his brother's hand – there were no more maybes; he _was_ going to be okay.

**------**

Satisfied that Joe was indeed going to be okay now, Francis and Fenton told Cecil they wanted to talk to him…in private.

Gertrude fixed her eyes firmly on her father and brother as they turned to leave. "Be nice," she warned them.

Fenton raised an eyebrow in playful indignation as Francis just scoffed, "Settle down, baby girl. We just want to talk with him – not tar and feather him…" he turned away from her and added, "that comes later."

Cecil gave the woman a confident smile and then followed the other two men out of the room.

"What do you think that's all about?" Gertrude asked her mother as soon as the door closed. She and Agnes stood at the foot of the bed, watching as Laura and little Frank spoke quietly to Joe. It didn't seem to matter to either of them that the younger child had already drifted back to sleep; they continued speaking to him, Laura gently stroking his pale cheek as Frank continued to clasp the limp hand, his dark eyes gazing intently on his brother's face.

"Don't worry yourself about it dear," Agnes said dismissively, "Your father likes Cecil."

"What about Fenton?" Gertrude heard herself asking as she thought about Cecil's trepidation in the car yesterday.

The older woman looked a bit surprised, "Fenton?"

"Yes. Does he blame Cecil for any of this? After all, if he hadn't mentioned anything to this Rigado guy about Joey's adoption, none of this would have ever happened," she admitted, a bit afraid of her mother's answer.

"Oh, Gertie," Agnes smiled gently and shook her head. "If your brother blamed your friend in any way, do you honestly think he'd let Cecil anywhere near his children right now? You know how that boy can be about holding a grudge."

The younger woman rolled her eyes – _oh yeah, did she ever!_ Smiling, she nodded and turned her attention back on her nephews, knowing her mother was right. Of course she had known that herself, but hearing it from someone else allayed the irrational concern that had been tugging at her.

"Gertrude," Agnes reached out a bit awkwardly and touched her daughter's arm, drawing her attention back to herself. She spoke softly. "Are you okay with this – with Cecil's condition, I mean? He's going to die."

Wincing inwardly at her mother's bluntness, Gertrude sighed softly, "We're all going to die someday, Mother."

Agnes nodded but didn't say anything. _What could she say? Gertrude was right_.

"But in spite of that—" the younger woman continued so softly her mother had to strain to hear what she was saying, "I do love him. I know that in the end, it's going to hurt, but I – I can't live life for the end….I have to live it for the now. And in the now, I have Cecil."

The older woman felt a surge of pride rise in her chest for the remarkable young woman that her daughter had grown into. "You're much wiser than I ever was at your age," Agnes admitted, and then in an attempt to lighten up the seriousness of their conversation she added, "After all, I married your father!"

Gertrude laughed and shook her head. No matter how much she loved her mother, she didn't think she would ever truly understand her. But there were just some things that didn't require comprehension, and love, the young woman decided, was one of them.

------

Fenton and Francis led Cecil down to the end of the hall before turning to him.

Francis eyed him speculatively until the young man shifted under the scrutiny, than he just said rather gruffly, "If you break my baby girl's heart, I'll break both your legs." Satisfied when Cecil paled, he nodded to his son – it was his turn. The detective looked at his father oddly for a moment and then just shook his head in disbelief.

"Cecil," Fenton's tone was a lot less formidable. "I want to say thank you for what you did last night – if you hadn't been here, I'm not exactly sure what would have happened….But either way, thank you. I know it couldn't have been an easy thing for you to do."

Cecil nodded but didn't say anything, sensing the other man was not finished yet.

"You know, I don't think I've been very fair to you," Fenton continued appraising the bingo caller through serious eyes, "and I just want to say I'm sorry for that. In the couple of days I've known you, you've helped open my eyes towards a lot of things – especially my sister, and I hope that over time, we'll get to know each other a lot better. All of us." He glared meaningfully at his father, not impressed with the gun-toting hillbilly-father routine Francis had pulled on Cecil.

"_What?"_ the ex-cop asked innocently and then huffed loudly, "Oh fine. You're just as bad as your mother, did you know that?" He addressed Cecil again. "You make my daughter happy, and you've stepped in to help my family a number of times now – that makes you okay in my books." He glanced back at his son, "Satisfied?"

"That'll do, Dad," Fenton grinned and patted his father's back patronizingly. "I wouldn't want you to explode from all this mushiness or anything."

"Good," Francis said, brushing his son's hands away and turning to go back to Joe's room. "Now come on, we got a New Year's Eve party to plan." He pursed his lips. "Hmmm…I wonder if it'll be just as easy sneaking that past the security desk…"

------

The next time Joe woke up, he was more alert and barely remembered his earlier consciousness.

"Oh baby," his mother immediately gushed, the smile on her face lighting up his soul as she bent over to kiss his forehead, "how are you feeling?"

"S-sore," the child managed, licking his dry lips, "and thirsty."

"I'll check with the nurse to see if you can have some water," Gertrude offered, quickly slipping into the hallway. Cecil smiled at Joe and then followed her.

"You're going to be pretty sore for a while," his father said, standing behind Laura and gazing down at him sympathetically. "When you fell into the well, one of the slats of wood that had been used as a covering, pierced your side."

Joe shivered at the reminder of what had happened, and felt Frank squeeze his hand. "That's why it hurt so much," he said, remembering the pain, the blood and the darkness.

"It's okay though," Frank said hurriedly, picking up on his brother's growing anxiety, "the doctor fixed you all up and you can come home soon!"

"Today?" the younger boy asked hopefully, not wanting to be left alone in the hospital.

"No, I'm sorry baby," Laura said gently, "you're going to need to stay in here for a couple more days so the doctors can make sure that you're getting better before you can come home." She paused and then added, "So we'll be staying at your grandparents' for a little bit longer – we don't want to be driving back to Bayport until you're feeling better."

"Oh," Joe said softly, looking down at the white sheet lying across his chest. He couldn't see the bandages that wrapped his midsection but he could feel their tugging with each breath he took.

"But don't you worry your little head about any of that." It was his Poppy who spoke this time and Joe glanced up, a bit startled to hear his voice. In all truth he hadn't noticed that his grandparents were there. Francis moved closer and squeezed his shoulder gently. "You won't be alone, champ. One of us will be here with you at all times. Just like we've been all along."

Joe blushed and smiled shyly. He still wasn't used to this kind of attention…but he liked it – not the being fawned over because he was in the hospital part, just the feeling that they did care part. It made him feel very safe…and loved.

When Gertrude and Cecil came back into the room, Gert was holding a cup of ice chips. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "you can't have water yet but you can suck on these." She gave the cup to Laura and watched as the young mother passed a chip to the child.

Joe sucked it, grateful for the instant relief it offered his parched mouth. He looked at his aunt – a fleeting memory of her in the well washed over him, and swallowing the ice chip he said, "You were there."

Now it was Gertrude's turn to blush. "I didn't think you'd remember that."

The child smiled at her – his brilliant blue eyes shining in his pale face. "I do. A little bit—" he paused and then added, "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," Gertrude said, her voice huskier than usual.

With an unforeseen wisdom in his voice, Joe just said, "Yes. I do."

For one brief moment Gertrude wondered if she had done anything to make him realize her own fear in that dark hole. But then, shaking her head, she doubted it. _'Nah, he's just an intuitive kid,'_ she decided.

The sound of the door opening made the Hardys turn to see a nurse coming into the room. The nurse looked at Frank as she moved past the family to check on Joe.

She just shook her head slightly, tended her patient and then moved to leave the room. Pausing briefly at the door, the nurse smiled at the dark-haired boy. "I have a sister, so I know what it's like." And then she was gone.

Frank let go of Joe's hand, stood up and faced his family. Looking more somber than he had ever in his young life, he said softly but firmly, "Can I talk to Joey…alone?" His eyes roamed over the faces of the adults in the room, stopping when they got to his grandfather's. His Poppy would understand…and he did.

With a few brief words, Francis ushered his family into the hallway to give the two little boys their time alone. He promised to explain but when he got them out of the room, he just shrugged and said, "It's a brother thing."

------

"Frankie?" Joe was worried, having no idea why his brother wanted to talk to him alone. _What was he going to say? Was he mad at Joe for something?_ He still didn't know for sure what had happened to Frank after he fell in the hole – _maybe Frank blamed him for that!_

Frank sat back down on the edge of Joe's bed and looked at him.

The blond boy felt his heart just about pounding out of his chest as he waited for his brother to begin. And when Frank finally did, Joe was shocked. The first words out of Frank's mouth was an apology.

"I'm sorry Joey," the older boy said, his voice quivering a bit, "I made a promise to you – _a sacred, big-brother promise_ – and I broke it!"

Joe didn't understand but Frank continued before he could ask. "I promised I'd never leave you and – and I did! I didn't want to! But that bad man grabbed me and stuck something in my face that made me fall asleep and then when I woke up I was sick and scared and I couldn't get back to you and—" he was crying now – rambling – his words barely understandable through his upset and grief.

"Frankie," Joe interrupted, shaken to see his big brother like this. A stirring in the pit of his stomach demanded that he do something to stop this. "It's okay. I'm okay, big brother – look at me."

The dark-haired boy was looking at him and just shook his head. "How can you say it's okay? I made you a promise, Joey – my very first promise to you – and then I broke it."

"No you didn't." Joe firmly rebutted. "You didn't _leave_ me….You were _taken_ away. That's different, Frankie – very, very different." An acute understanding of the difference lurked behind the blue eyes. "I'm just so happy _you're_ okay. I don't know what I would do without you."

Frank reached out and took his hand again, squeezing warmth into the cooler fingers. "Me neither." He sniffed and scrubbed at his face, embarrassed by his display and relieved that his brother wasn't blaming him for not being there – for not being able to save him; for not being able to keep his promise.

The two boys sat together for a few moments without saying anything until Joe broke the silence. He sighed, "We never got to build that snow fort…"

"I know," Frank admitted, sounding just as glum, "and it would have really been something, too."

"Yeah, the best one ever," the younger boy agreed. He closed his eyes and lay back against the pillow; he was tired again and his side was really aching. "I'm glad you're here."

Frank's hold on his hand tightened briefly, "Me too. You can go to sleep if you want to. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?" Joe mumbled, already mostly asleep.

"I promise," the older boy assured him, a surprising amount of ferocity in his voice. If he had to hide under the bed, in the closet or the bathroom to do so, this was one promise he was not going to break.

It might not be a sacred big-brother promise, but it was still a big-brother promise nonetheless. And those were a serious thing.

------

Later that night when the clock struck twelve and the world welcomed in a brand new year, Fenton Hardy smiled down at his sleeping children: Joe in the hospital bed and Frank curled up beside him; he shook his head at the twisted irony of the situation. He had hoped that Joe's first Christmas with them would be one he would never forget…and it was; just not in the way Fenton had been expecting.

The young father just hoped that next year's holidays would be a lot less eventful…and maybe they were…

But that is another story, for another time.

The End


End file.
